Sophistry and Dialectic
by MBurris
Summary: Harry gets smart and takes on the true Dark Lord in his life. And if he does it right, all he needs are words.
1. Chapter 1

**Sophistry and Dialectic**

This disclaimer incorporates all necessary language to completely pardon the author from any and all legal action, because I have no legal ownership.

 **A/N** : I read Less Wrong's fanfic, and wondered if there's a middle ground; Harry gets smart but everyone else is as canon. This is my attempt at that scenario. Plus some other ideas …

Chapter 1

Safely installed (read: incarcerated) in a bed under Madame Pomfrey's watchful care, Harry was frantic. Harry had no _time_. He needed time to think. Cedric was _dead_ , Fudge was aggressively displaying his cowardice and betraying all of Wizarding Britain, Ron was being a faithful friend and just would _not stop talking_.

And Harry couldn't think. Hermione was who he outsourced most of his brain activity to, but he couldn't dump this on her – first, he needed to know what the questions were. After that, Harry had a feeling that the answers would be obvious.

Dumbledore was sending him back to the Dursley's again. He only had until London to figure out what to do next. He would have to make it count. He needed to think – _no, he needed to_ learn _to think_ – a very different proposition, and one that he felt might pay more dividends than just thinking, this time.

So … what was he going to do about the Dursley's this summer? He really needed a way to keep them off his back. What changes a person's behavior? Threats? Harry snorted to himself, earning a quick glance from Madame Pomfrey at her desk about 30 paces away. The only threat Harry could produce that Uncle Vernon would recognize would involve magic, and that was out. Bribes? _Hmm. What would I have that Uncle Vernon would want? Status? Recognition? Immense quantities of greasy food? Hmm…_

o0O—O0o

Hermione was making her usual evening visit after dinner. Homework was sacred to her, and she had taken extra care with her notes to help Harry during his convalescence. Even though he had only missed two days of classes, and final exams were waived for him, which meant that Harry didn't agree with her at all. Still, she was one of his only friends, so he endured her silly penchant for showing off her knowledge.

"… and this is packet is the notes for yesterday, split up by subject, with another sheet of definitions, cross references, and additional reading."

"Yes, Hermione." Harry couldn't keep the boredom out of his voice. He was idly reviewing all the charms he knew.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "This is important! You need to know …" She broke off as she saw what he was doing. "Are you going study Runes on your own?"

Harry was confused. He didn't know what would give Hermione the idea that he was studying Runes, of all things, and he said as much to her.

Hermione gestured to his parchment. "Your Proto-Rune set. You're reviewing all of the basic rune lines." As Harry raised his eyebrow at her, she trailed off, "I've been reading ahead for next year …"

Harry looked at what he had drawn. He didn't see Runes. He saw the wand movements for each of the charms taught in First Year. He made a snap decision to keep his own counsel. "Right. Just a second," he muttered. Harry grabbed a smaller piece of parchment, scribbled a note, and signed it. He folded it in half and handed it to Hermione. "Could you please take this to Professor McGonagall? I'd like her to get it this evening, if you see her."

Hermione beamed. "Of course, Harry! Are you going to change your electives for next year?"

Harry looked Hermione full in the face. "When I actually have something to tell you, I'll do just that." As she took a breath to speak again, Harry smirked and widened his eyes at her. " _Relax_. Nothing has happened yet, so there's nothing to talk about. When something does happen, we'll talk. Okay?"

Hermione's cheeks pinked a bit, but her smile was just a bit wider.

"Oh, and Hermione? Can I hire you for some research this summer? I'll have to owe you until the beginning of next year, but I'm good for it, I promise. All your expenses, plus."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course, Harry. What do you want to know about?"

"I want the arithmantic breakdown of some spells; every shield you can find, the Unforgiveables, and … hmm… a hex with a one syllable incantation and next to no wand movement. Then when I've figured out what I can learn from those, I'll need you to build up a new spell using this new information." He paused. "Or, you can simply discover why the Unforgiveables can't be shielded against. That would be a big shortcut."

She smiled, nodded, gathered up her things, and left. Harry reached for another sheet of parchment, and wrote. He was writing a letter, which meant that Hedwig would appear shortly – Harry was on a deadline. His breakdown could happen later.

o0O—O0o

"Professor, I have a note from Harry." Hermione almost bounced into the Transfiguration Professor's office with her hand outstretched.

 _Professor McGonagall,_

 _I have made a significant mistake in choosing my electives. I hope that it is not too late to drop my Divination class and add Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. I am aware that the Headmaster has advised that I should take Divination, but as he has neglected to explain how this is not a complete waste of my time, I do not feel obliged to follow his suggestion. Please let me know of your ruling on this matter. I will be studying on my own this summer, and will be happy being placed in the appropriate level class, even if it's not in my year._

 _Yours,_

 _Harry Potter_

A slight twitch at the corner of her mouth was the only sign of how much she approved of Harry's request. "I see," said the Professor. "I shall be able to respond to Harry's request in the morning." She looked at the messenger over her glasses. "It is close to curfew, and you still have a day of school to attend."

Hermione was able to hear the implied message: _Yes, but I will tell Harry myself. Have a good night._ Hermione nodded to her head of house, and left.

o0O—O0o

"Ron said you wanted to speak with us?" Fred and George were both a little red-eyed, and it didn't look like it was from lack of sleep. Harry supposed that most of the castle's inhabitants looked the same way. Fred (Harry assumed) had Harry's short letter in his hand.

Harry gestured at a sack at the end of his hospital bed. "I was given the prize money for the stupid tournament. Mr. Diggory said he didn't want it. I really don't feel like I should keep it. So I was hoping you would let me make an investment."

Both twins glanced meaningfully at each other. The one that hadn't spoken first then said, "What kind of investment did you want?"

"I want to invest in your joke shop." At a sharp intake of breath from both twins, Harry raised his hand and went on, "And there are some conditions. For one, the shop has to be a memorial for Cedric in some way. And some of what you sell has to be items for self-defense – not just joke items that would irritate a bad guy, but stuff that is really for surviving an attack."

"And that's what you want for your one-third ownership?" That was from the one on the right.

"No, that's what I want for my ten percent ownership."

For the first time, the twins were both in perfect sync and, at the same time, working against each other. "No, you can't" and "But that's not" came out of them as they stepped on each other's lines. Harry raised his hand again.

"Gentlemen, this is not a negotiation. It's an offer. Do you want to accept it?"

"Is there a way to get another offer?" The twin on the left was doing the speaking this time.

"I'm sure there is," Harry replied. "But not from me. I can sweeten the pot, though."

The twin on the right perked up first. "What have you got?"

"I know the original Marauders. If things go right, I can introduce you to two of them."

"DEAL!" came from both George and Fred. "Waitaminute," said one. "Did he just refuse our offer of more ownership by giving us more value for less stock in the company?"

"I believe you're right, brother of mine." They turned to Harry. "No deal. Do you have anything else that can persuade us?"

Harry snorted. "Nope. That's it." They began to turn away, and Harry added, "But I'm glad to see that your negotiation skills aren't completely worthless."

"What, like yours?"

Harry snorted. "It's working, right? So my approach isn't worthless."

The twins huddled, facing away from Harry. After a few minutes of consultation, they turned back around. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is no more. Instead, you are now a partner in _Marauding Legacies_!" proclaimed George (?).

Harry smiled. "Okay, sit down guys. Let me tell you about the Marauders. First, let me say this – I'm only telling you about Wormtail the one time. After that, we ignore the bastard. You knew him as Scabbers, but his real name …"

The young men kept talking for hours. Madame Pomfrey kept watch from her office desk, glad that Harry was able to find something to bring him out of his depression. She carefully didn't acknowledge his silent sobs in the dead of night, nor his red-rimmed eyes each morning. Forcing the young man to confront his emotions could destroy what little emotional resilience he had – the only thing that would build Harry up now was time.

o0O—O0o

Harry was cleared to leave the infirmary two days later – one day before students boarded the Hogwarts Express for the summer break. One day before Harry would be once again incarcerated at 4 Privet Drive. _Not 'home'. Never 'home'_. Under pressure, Harry began to apply his thoughts towards how he could – well, not 'have fun', more like 'survive'.

Picking up where he left off during his enforced bed rest, Harry wondered about what he had that Uncle Vernon would find worth changing his behavior. If he told Vernon that his actions would result in Wizarding deaths? Huh. While Vernon was hostile to magic – and those that had it – it wasn't what Vernon really wanted. Power. Prestige. Social position.

And those all boiled down to … money. Wealth.

Harry picked a Galleon out of his pocket. How much is gold worth? He blinked. He needed to know how much the coins weighed – and how much the metals were worth in the Muggle world.

Well, the weighing was easy. One charm later, Harry was scribbling his findings down. And according to a second charm, coins only had the most basic of magical signature – probably to insure that the coins weren't counterfeit.

Harry descended from his room to the Gryff Common Room, asking in general, "Does anyone have a Muggle newspaper?"

A chorus of 'no's were heard.

A seventh year, drowsily tucked into a shadowed corner said, "Just haveta wait 'til ya get home, bucko."

 _Bucko?_ Harry shook his head. Temporarily blocked, Harry shifted his focus to other aspects of his Dursley Management Plan.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Pulling his trunk behind him into the Muggle portion of the train station, Harry looked though the crowd at King's Cross. Uncle Vernon would find him soon enough, and Harry had to be ready. If he remembered right, there should be a bunch of vending machines around the entrance … right … there!

His dwindling stash of Muggle currency was still sufficient to buy a newspaper, and Harry quickly found the financial section. Finding the current prices of precious metals didn't happen, though – he had no idea how to find it among all the excessively fine print. Inwardly, he shrugged, and folded the paper back up. _I'm sure that Uncle Vernon can help me figure this out, and maybe I can spin this so that he'll think he's taking advantage of me._ That should help move things along …

Uncle Vernon greeted Harry at the station, leading the way to where his company car was parked, gleaming in the sun from a recent wash and wax.

Harry stopped (prudently out of arm's reach) and cocked his head to the side.

"Uncle Vernon, would you like to help me cheat wizards out of their money?"

The big man's eyes narrowed, but he didn't conceal the gleam of interest he suddenly had.

"And I need to learn to be normal, too. Magic makes people stupid. Could you help with that?"

"Do you have to use … m-word?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. I need to learn to be normal, so I'll have to go to the library a bit this summer, and I will need … well, it will depend on how much money I can get, and how fast."

Uncle Vernon could tell that there was a chance to divert some of that money his way. "What do you need?" He was growing marginally less hostile by the minute. Not quickly, but fast enough that Harry felt safe enough.

Harry pulled a galleon out of his pocket, and then dropped it back in once the yellow gleam was reflected in Vernon's eyes. "Umm… let's get in the car so people don't see this." Uncle Vernon nodded and they slipped into the seats. Harry suspected that the somewhat … clandestine … nature of the transaction made it more appealing to his Uncle, and he tried to use that in the negotiations.

By the time that the Dursley's car was approaching Little Whinging, Harry had hammered out a rough agreement with his Uncle. Harry would provide them with golden Galleons, which Vernon would melt down and recast into blank ingots – Vernon felt that he would prevent any 'funny business' that way, and Harry was happy to let his porcine uncle do all the work he wanted. The Dursleys would pay Harry £120 for each Galleon; while quite a bit below market prices, it was still a lot higher than what Gringott's was offering, and Harry didn't feel cheated, even though the Dursley's would be making over twice that amount per Galleon. Harry's summer chores were immediately suspended – Harry had to do nothing but sell gold to Uncle Dursley for the next two and a half months. (Dudley's whinging was an expected bonus.)

Harry didn't even have to negotiate for travel or food privileges. He was simply told that dinner was at 6 sharp, and not to be late. Uncle Vernon tried to go into a tirade about making sure that Harry didn't waste food and how he had to keep them informed of his whereabouts, but Harry looked sideways and cocked his eyebrow at the man, and the noise abruptly ceased.

This would be a good summer. Money could buy more than Harry had expected, apparently.

o0O—O0o

That summer of glorious freedom cost Harry 10 Galleons – he sold one Galleon a week. Getting his vault key back from the Weasleys took a bit of effort, but Harry stood firm, and was able to make use of the Night Bus (why didn't the name change when the sun was up, Harry wondered) to visit Diagon Alley at need. There was a bit of money (in pounds) given to Uncle Vernon to arrange a meeting with an American. The Yank (a Mr. Cooper, from Nevada, selling specialty variety of steel) gave Harry some advice on how to get into sharpshooting, but even better, helped Harry purchase a manual from 'across the pond.' He was amused that a Brit wanted to enter the shooting sports, and had nothing but contempt for how Englishmen deprived themselves of the right to self-defense.

Harry let it all wash over him. He needed accuracy – missing the target destroyed the effect of what little spells he knew. Putting up with a Muggle Yank's gunpowder fetish for a few hours was a minor annoyance, and paid off handsomely. The two air pistols, 50,000 pellets, 500 CO2 cartridges, and protective goggles made a significant dent in Harry's collection of Muggle bills, but Harry felt it was completely worth it. Immediately after the purchase, one of the air pistols was forwarded to Remus Lupin via Hedwig. When it was returned to Harry three days later, the other air pistol was sent off for the same … _enhancements_. Harry later regretted the purchase of all those supplies, as the changes made by Moony made them completely unnecessary, but it wasn't a big deal. Just some money spent in error. _Better prepared than not_. And it was what the Dursleys expected to see, so it helped a bit in that regard.

Harry turned the garage into his own shooting gallery, learning to hit a 15mm washer in the air with a pellet better than 99 times out of a hundred. He hoped that his accuracy skills would transfer over when he used a wand. Somehow, he thought it would help.

Harry also worked on strength training. His endurance wasn't bad – not great, but not bad – but he was pretty sure that at Hogwarts, he was stuck with running. That meant bulking up had to be done during the summer. Not much could be done over two months without potions, but every little bit helped, Harry felt.

Harry's trips to the public library centered on math, rhetoric, and logic.

"Wizards have no common sense. I've spent way too much time in their world, and I need to learn how to think like a normal person," he explained to Uncle Vernon. Math was explained as Harry's interest in finance. The big man approved; normal was good. Normal was safe. And Harry needed to keep Uncle Vernon feeling safe.

And in the privacy of his own room, Harry read about Runes and Arithmancy. He knew that he'd need to hire a tutor during the summers for the mathematics, but first he needed to know what parts of math he needed to learn.

As the summer wore on, Harry began to have trouble sleeping, being interrupted by nightmares of Voldemort doing … whatever it was he was doing at the time. Usually planning, kvetching, or torturing a loyal follower. _What is_ with _these people? They follow a guy that will hurt and kill them? Loyalty is something the wanker is_ actively _trying to suppress?_ Harry quickly understood that he was receiving 'live' visions of Voldemort's activities, and Harry's new training in logic quickly helped him regain his sleep: Harry's sleep patterns changed. Harry was now up to all hours of the night, doing the bulk of his reading, and he slept in until just before noon, when The Dark Wanker's activities never made it into visions. While Harry still had to endure the painful visions, getting a full day/night's/whatever's sleep helped immensely in shaking off the effects.

The big test of Harry's skills came unexpectedly toward the middle of August. Harry was on his way to the Library again, being shadowed by Dudley, who was trying to intimidate Harry. He was much less successful than he had been in years past, and couldn't understand how the balance of power had changed. As the sky grew dark in the middle of the summer day, Harry looked around, uneasy. Dudley was still muttering about "… gonna hurt you good," having no idea that things were not as they should be.

Harry finally spotted something to account for this unseasonable weather – two forms in the sky that made his blood run cold.

"Dud! Shut up and get back home! I'll hold them off!" Without looking back at his cousin, Harry took off his backpack and reached inside to an interior pocket. The air pistol felt heavy and cold in his hand – a comforting weight at the moment.

Harry risked a look back, and found Dudley rooted to the spot, eyes big in fright. "Get moving!" Dudley didn't move, eyes blindly fixed on nothing but the horrors inside his head. Harry turned to face the incoming Dementors. _It doesn't seem like Dudley will attack me from behind right now._

The air pistol had a third position on its safety, one unmarked by anything except some scratches on the frame. Harry moved it to that position now, and there was a brief flash of blue light from within the grip. Harry took bead on the first monster, barely 30 yards away, and pulled the trigger.

A brief puff from the block of metal in his hands, and the monster jerked, stopped moving forward, and plummeted straight toward the earth. Harry repeated the shot at the second Dementor, with the same results. He flicked the safety to the normal "safe" position, grabbed Dudley's massive (and disturbingly flabby, Harry noticed) arm, and attempted to drag him toward the house. After a few tugs, Dudley's legs began to move. It wasn't until they were almost back that Dudley's mouth followed suit.

"What were those things?"

"Monsters. They're called Dementors."

"Whadidya _do_ to them?"

"The same thing I'll do to anything else that comes at me – put it down hard." Dudley nodded at that; it was an attitude that he respected.

Just before they entered the house, Harry turned to his cousin. "Look, Dud. Nothing happened, we didn't see anything, we didn't do anything. You just followed me around until I gave in and you chased me home, okay?"

Dudley nodded. It was his standard refrain, anyway.

Harry went up to his room to write a thank you note to Remus. _The upgrades you made to my air pistol worked as promised, and I can now report that a Dementor can be put down with a shot to the head. Recoil was a little heavier than normal, but very manageable. I would like some ideas on how to carry it accessibly while wearing robes for the coming school year …_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry looked different at Kings Cross in September – in a way. He was closer to the average height of his year mates, less scrawny, less hesitant. Harry's hand-me-down clothes had all been replaced by a new wardrobe – nothing tailored, certainly, but definitely fitting. The shopping trip disguised to Harry his increase in height, as well as how he was filling out. What really stood out about Harry Potter that autumn was that Harry Potter stood out _less_. Given the general amount of brain activity in magicals, all that meant was that Harry was under less supervision and scrutiny than before. Harry found that … pleasant.

The train carriage was empty, and Harry set about removing several books from his trunk and placing them in the messenger bag at his side, hanging up his robes over the door window. Settling back with a book on Runes, he eyed the door thoughtfully; he really didn't want to miss his friends … and that didn't really cover the Weasleys anymore. He moved the robes to hang from the wall while he thought of the changes of the past two months.

The summer had been the best in his memory – no abuse, plenty to eat, no chores. Harry's studies had highlighted what he really needed; an exceptional ability with _one_ spell, rather than an arsenal of spells that he could cast proficiently. Of course, it had to be the _right_ one spell, but Harry's investigations into Arithmancy pointed him to what he needed. Fortunately, his intuition had put Hermione on the path at the beginning of the summer break.

 _The Art of War_ , _The Book of Five Rings_ , _On War_ – it was the muggle side of his studies that really opened his mind. The oriental theorists were really great and gave him direction on how to attack a Dark Lord, but von Clausewitz lead him to Aristotle, Plato, Descartes, then on to Locke, Hume, Kant … Harry really wanted to do more than the brief overview that this summer gave him, but that would have to wait until he had more time.

Returning his attention to the present, Harry had barely enough time to open his planning notebook when there was a knock from the train corridor.

Neville stuck his head in and asked, "Mind if we join you?"

Nobody that Neville collected could be objectionable, so Harry flipped the notebook closed and said, "No problem. Who all have you got?"

Neville opened the door and began to usher in his followers. "I've collected Susan Bones,"

"Hi," she squeaked as she ducked under Neville's arm holding the door. Her red hair flowed behind her as she whirled into the compartment.

"… Hannah Abott,"

"Hi, Harry!" Hannah's voice had much more volume, and she bounced … _fetchingly_ … as she joined her friend. Harry managed to keep his eyes on her face, but it was a near thing.

"… and Luna Lovegood."

Luna, a short and slim blonde with piercing silver eyes, simply looked Harry over once and then focused her attention somewhere behind Harry's right ear.

"Hello, ladies," said Harry. "I'm glad to see you." Turning to squarely face Luna, he added, "I'm glad you're here."

It seemed to take Luna a few seconds to refocus on the people in the room. "Harry, you have an enormous cloud of Wrackspurts bouncing off your head. Have you recently recovered from obliviation?"

Harry grinned. "Nope. But this summer, I did work on trying to think more clearly."

She brightened. "Ooh! Natural wrackspurt defenses? You have to tell me all about it!" Behind her, Neville, Susan, and Hannah were grinning, but in an accepting manner.

Neville spoke up. "Before we get into a long explanation, Harry, where do you want to hang your robes?" It was a good question – to keep the door clear, Harry had hung his robes over the forward-facing bench. With all five of them there, the robes would have to be moved.

"Oh, let's just put them over the door. Get yours out, too, and we won't have to shift the trunks until we get there."

"Harry," Susan tentatively offered, "but then Ron and Hermione won't be able to see you in here."

Harry nodded firmly to her. "Exactly."

The Hannah, Susan, and Neville looked confused at Harry's response, but started following his instructions. Harry then softly said, "… and neither will Malfoy."

The three seemed to understand, while Luna simply waited, focused on Harry. After their trunks had been looted for everything they would need on the train ride and then stowed, Luna firmly sat herself across from Harry, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Tell me."

Harry grinned at her focus. "You are _such_ a Ravenclaw! OK, well, first I wanted to read what Plato and Aristotle had to say about logic and reasoning, but I needed some modern translations and commentaries …"

It was a long train ride, but to the five of them, it wasn't long enough. Neville had some surprisingly insightful questions and comments once he loosened up, and Susan and Hannah both asked questions often enough to show that they were following along. Luna didn't drift off into talking about undocumented critters, focusing completely on Harry's self-studies in philosophy, logic, and rationality. They only had a brief interruption when the snack cart came by; all four Weasleys, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Malfoy all failed to put in an appearance.

Which is why Harry was given four knuts as they disembarked. "I've never shared a compartment with a 'Puff or 'Claw before, and that's the robes that they saw through the door, so they couldn't believe that I'd be in here." Harry shook his head in mock sadness. "And Hermione used to be so smart, too."

Susan and Hannah giggled. A smiling Luna continued to watch something invisible just past Harry's shoulder. Harry felt that this year probably wasn't going to be too bad.

o0O—O0o

Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table. Hermione rushed up to him and sat down at his side.

"Harry, why weren't you at the Burrow? Don't you want to spend time with the Weasleys anymore? And where were you on the train?"

Harry held up his hand to stop the endless flow of questions. "Hermione," he said, flatly. He turned to look her straight in the eye. "How many times a day, on average, did you get into rows with Ron while you were at the Burrow?" His voice was even.

"Well …" Hermione had to stop and think. "Maybe two and a half or so?"

"And how well would Ron have taken my desire to study instead of play?"

Hermione grinned a little. "Even worse than when I do it, probably," she agreed.

"I had – well, have – a lot of studying to do. I have plans. Ron doesn't want to exert himself."

"Not unless there's a ticket to the Cannons in it for him," Hermione agreed again.

"So it was better for me to stay away. Besides," Harry lowered his voice, "Mrs. Weasley isn't too happy with me right now."

Hermione frowned. "Mrs. Weasley didn't really ask about you at all when I was at the Burrow. It seemed a little … off."

Harry sighed. "Mrs. Weasley has been handling my school shopping for the last two years. I insisted on getting my vault key back and handling my own affairs this summer, and she was … not happy … that I am taking control over my own life." He snorted. "And I turned down an invitation to spend the last two weeks at the Burrow. That seems to have mortally offended Mrs. Weasley." He glanced around. "I can only hope that the youngest Weasley settled down, too."

Harry made sure that he couldn't be overheard. "Do you have anything on that summer project I asked for?"

Hermione immediately straightened up and started rooting through her bag, emerging with a notebook a few moments later. "Nobody seems to know just why those spells don't get stopped by shield spells, but the expert consensus is that their dark nature makes them different than all other spells, and they work on a different … well, plane of magic."

Harry's response was immediate. "I don't buy that. What about the arithmantic breakdown?"

Hermione flipped to a section of the notebook and handed it to Harry. "Each of the," she looked for eavesdroppers, " _primary offensive spells_ has three more terms in their formula, terms that similar spells don't have." Harry nodded, showing that he followed her euphemism. The dinner crowd was really starting to arrive, making their conversation much less private. Hermione went on, "I've isolated one of the terms as something we don't want to mess with, but the other two are complete mysteries to me."

Harry was pleased. "I'd like you to reformulate the piercing hex three ways; once with both terms, and once with one of those terms each." Hermione was taking notes as he spoke. "And finally," Harry grinned as Hermione looked up, "I need your bill for expenses. How many books did you buy for this project? And how much time did you spend on it?"

His best friend reddened a bit. "It wasn't much Harry, and I …" Harry lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow at her. "Okay! I had to buy next year's Arithmancy textbook… and seventh year's … and three reference books for about 25 Galleons. It took me," Hermione's voice almost completely lost volume, "about a week…"

Harry laughed and gave her a small-ish bag he pulled from his robe pocket. "This is what I budgeted for this summer project – 50 Galleons. You've more than earned it, and proved that the Granger Approach will work wonders for this year."

Hermione's blush grew deeper. "Thanks, Harry, I … Wait-a-minute! What 'Granger Approach'?"

Harry laughed. Most of their housemates were around them for the Opening Feast now, and Harry knew that this next part would make the rounds of gossip in record time. "You know that you've always done my thinking for me, Hermione. I've just proved to myself that by using some gold, I can get projects done without having to strain my little brain!"

Neville, who had just sat down on Harry's other side, chortled. Hermione started a sentence, stopped, started what sounded like a completely different sentence, and then gave up. After a moment she said softly, "You know you could do it yourself, Harry."

"Yes, I could," Harry agreed softly, "But I have other things to focus my attention on. This particular project is one that I just need the results for – other things, like my schoolwork, dating, and basic maintenance like meals," he added, "are things I need to do myself. So the things I ask you to do, and the other things I'm going to have hired out, are things where I just need the results, not the understanding."

As McGonagall began the sorting of the incoming First Years, Harry concluded with his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not cheating, Hermione. I'm not going to cheat myself, and I'm not going to cheat you." _Well, except by maybe asking you to date me, and you'll always be free to say no. Wait, what? Where'd that come from?_

Hermione flushed as if she could hear what Harry was thinking, and they settled back to await the Sorting. Ron, seated up and across the table a ways, kept glancing their way, but made no move to speak to them. Harry figured that Mrs. Weasley had forbidden their friendship (as Harry was no longer controlled by adult Weasleys); it would be interesting to see how Ron would react to Harry's indifference. Ginny was seated farther down the table, and seemed to be completely unaware that Harry and Hermione existed at all. Harry was not fooled; Ginny was a sharp cookie, which meant that she knew exactly where Harry was. Either Ginny agreed with Molly Weasley, or Ginny was planning something.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The new Defense teacher, a short and utterly repellent woman named Umbridge, made what must have been a mass murder attempt by boredom as she attempted to welcome herself to Hogwarts. Harry made no notice – just like the vast majority of students – aside from mentally noting that he would have to self-study DADA this year. _Again._

Headmaster Dumbledore stood, waved his hand vaguely at the tables and said, "Begin," signaling the food to appear. He sat down, eyes twinkling madly. The Great Hall was awash in hundreds of private conversations. After the meal was served, and Ron became something of a minor sucking vortex of doom to any food within arm's reach, Harry began talking with Hermione again.

"I've got a project – well, another project – I'd like your help with." At Hermione's immediate full attention, he added, "It will just be checking over some essays every once in a while."

"What subject will you be covering?"

"Oh, they won't be _my_ essays – like I said, I'm hiring out some thinking." Hastily, in response to Hermione's developing glare, he said, "It's not for a school class – I'm going to be announcing an essay contest. Andyoucan'tbeinit," he finished rapidly.

"WHAT?" Hermione's glare was … pronounced. Her shout was actually at a low volume that didn't attract notice, but Harry knew that she still required immediate attention.

"I want you to be a judge." She seemed to take this rather well, as the glare lessened, and he hastily went on, "If you were to enter, you'd win 'cause you're brilliant, but since you're my friend, everyone would say that you won 'cause of that, and I need everyone to trust the results." The glare dialed down even further, and he ended, "So I'd rather that you be a judge, and that will put everyone's mind at rest, and they'll know it will be judged strictly and fairly." The glare was gone.

"And … I'm going to have to poke some gentle fun at your reputation when I announce it after dinner." The glare was back, just a little bit, and Harry hastened to explain. Hermione eventually agreed, but gave Harry some guidelines.

She turned back to her food with a small smile. Harry didn't know why, but it was a relief – it didn't look like she was planning any retaliation. Harry had a lot of respect for her right fist. And the rest of her, but it was her right hook that he had to watch.

Once the meal had been consumed, Professor Dumbledore gave his beginning of the year announcements. Only the first years were truly alert and listening … and one fifth year. Harry was primed to stand, and his cue came when the Headmaster finished up with, "…and now we have an announcement from Mr. Potter."

Harry quickly strode the front of the Great Hall, and laughter arose as Harry climbed on top of a chair so he could see the other students. "Yeah, yeah – I'm short. I deal with it, okay?" He was smiling and his sally was well received. Taking a breath to power his voice, Harry began.

"Okay, so most of you know that for all my thinking needs, I turn it over to Hermione Granger." The laughter in response was agreeable. "Well, I've got a question, and Hermione, for all her strengths, only knows what is in books." Beat. "A truly _amazing_ number of books, but still." More laughter. "And so I've decided to host a contest." Turning to the staff table, "Professor Flitwick?"

The short Professor disappeared behind the staff table and reappeared at Harry's side, standing on a conjured stool. Harry looked down at the Professor's perch, and said (loud enough for the entire hall to hear,) "You're going to have to teach me that. Anyway…" Harry pulled out a large bag, familiar to all that made Gringott's withdrawals. "This is the prize money for the contest I'm about to announce." He took a deep breath, "Five hundred Galleons!"

The hall went nuts as he handed the prize money over to the Charms Professor.

"Okay, people!" The noise abated, somewhat. "Professor Flitwick is keeping the prize money in escrow for the eventual winner, so you can trust that you will receive the reward. Here's the goal; I need a checklist to determine if someone is a Dark Lord." The noise disappeared like food in front of Ron Weasley. "This essay contest is basically a written debate, with 500 Galleons as the prize for the winner. Every Sunday, after our evening meal, those people that are interested in the contest can stay in the Great Hall and listen to the next contestants read their essays, trying to create the criteria for naming a Dark Lord or Lady." Harry cleared his throat and surveyed the room. The entire student body was … in a word, captivated. He went on.

"Anyone entering this contest is expressly forbidden to use any person, living, dead, or in between, to illustrate their position – this contest is strictly about coming up with the reasons why we would classify a person as Dark. Illustrating your ideas by referring to the actions of one, say, Dulbus Ambledore, would be allowed if not for the transparent nature of the allusion." A smattering of laughter, including some from the head table. "I'll be posting a more complete set of rules for you 'Claws and Snakes at the back of the Great Hall by morning."

Immediately, a question was shouted from the middle of the Ravenclaw table. "Why would the Ravenclaws and Slytherins need the rules?"

Harry grinned. "Gryffindors are going to jump in without reading them whether they're there or not. Hufflepuffs don't need the rules, because they'll play fair even without them. But the Ravenclaws will feel more secure with the rules for an assignment, even if it is optional."

"And what about the Snakes?"

Harry grinned, raised his hands to shoulder level, and faced the Slytherin table. "Well, they'll want to know what kind of cheating they can get away with, am I right?"

There was an answering set of grins from most of the students dressed in green, with one of the older boys giving Harry a lazy salute. Malfoy, however, was sitting very still, his face guarded, his gaze unwavering from Harry's. _He doesn't know what's going on. He looks a bit confused._

Harry almost jumped down from his chair, but turned to address the hall again. "Oh, and you'll want to know that the judges are Professors Babbling, Vector, Flitwick, and McGonagall, and they will be joined by Miss Granger. Thanks!" And with that, Harry jumped off the chair and strode back to his dinner seat as the hall's ambient noise grew ever louder.

o0O—O0o

Harry was waiting for it – it was overdue, after all. It didn't happen on the train; for some reason, it didn't happen at the Welcoming Feast … Harry was waiting, and if it didn't happen soon, he was going to go spare from the anticipation. But the pale hair making its way through the hall against the flow of students promised that in just a few minutes, that tension of waiting would be gone.

Finally, Draco stood before Harry, shadowed as always by his 'friends', Plug and Ugly. "Are you sure you can afford …" Draco trailed off, looking at Harry's clothes. Unlike previous years, Harry now had clothes that fit, and he had gone to a bit of effort to buy slightly upscale fashions, too. They weren't the _latest_ , like what Draco perpetually wore, and they weren't ostentatious (again, like Draco), but his clothes put Harry Potter in the 'wealth, taste, and class' category. Harry was dressed the same way that most of the Malfoy followers dressed, so Draco couldn't make fun of Harry's clothes without jeopardizing a lot of Malfoy alliances.

"Yes, Draco, I can afford the contest prize money. I have even more money to give away to people that can complete certain tasks. Why, pocket money a little tight lately?" Harry's tone of voice said 'idle chatter and bored of it', but his body language said 'I'd love to kick your arse.'

Draco could recognize the danger and flushed at the implied threat, and began to back away. "I doubt very much that hiring people to do your homework is allowed, Potty. When my father hears about this,"

"He'll have to agree that I'm not doing anything of the sort," Harry interrupted. "Get out of the way, Drakie-poo. I've got class now, where unlike you, I'm going to _earn_ my grades."

Draco paused his backwards creep to say in a low voice, "The Dark Lord's back, Potter."

Whatever Draco was going to follow that with was lost, because Harry said, "One of them. The other never left." His absent-minded tone must have been disarming to Draco, because the aristocratic blond gaped at Harry's back as he walked to the common rooms.

Harry smirked to himself. _And yet more groundwork is laid_.

o0O—O0o

Harry's schedule had a notable flaw in it – Divination was still listed. Bracing McGonagall in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress, she confessed that Harry's elective choices had been overridden by the Headmaster… "… and he expects to meet with you directly after the Welcoming Feast."

Which was why Harry was leaning up against the wall opposite a smirking gargoyle. _As if a structure exclusively used for exterior decoration, parked in the middle of an interior corridor, doesn't clue people in that there's something extremely important here. I wonder if a_ confundus _charm will work on that stone guardian?_

It wasn't much later that the Headmaster appeared, trailed by his Deputy.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as usual. "Would you care to come into my office, young Harry?"

Harry couldn't help but think, _Just because I'm younger doesn't mean that I'm less wise, you old fart._ He noticed that Dumbledore's genial expression slipped for a moment.

Once they were all settled in Dumbledore's office, with McGonagall off to the side, the Headmaster began, "I'm afraid that I must insist on your schedule including Divination, my boy."

Harry immediately went on the offensive. "First of all, Headmaster, I am not 'your boy.' That level of familiarity is unwarranted and inappropriate. As the Student Handbook states, I am to be addressed as 'Mr. Potter.' If you are unable to follow the customs and traditions that are apparently even older than you, I will personally take my complaint to the Ministry, the Wizengamot, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and the press."

The two adults in the room were silent, apparently somewhat stunned.

Harry added, "And I seriously dislike your attempts to interfere with my education. This will also be part of my complaint, if I must make it public."

The Headmaster attempted to rally. "But my … Mr. Potter, it is imperative that you understand the nature of prophecy. This is something that you absolutely need!"

"No, Headmaster," Harry shot back, "it is not something _I_ need. It is something _you_ need. And I can thank you for finally hinting at why you have interfered in my life to such an extent. I have given you four years to explain why Mr. Riddle has taken such an interest in me, and only now is this coming out?" The whispered expletive "Bastard" wasn't low enough to go unnoticed by either adult, but they chose to let it pass.

The Headmaster attempted to take a grandfatherly tack. "And as your guardian, I must say that I am disappointed to that you have chosen to alienate your good friend Mr. Weasley. After the return of Mr. Riddle not five months ago, you should really gather all the friends around you that you can."

Harry snorted expressively. "In order, Mr. Dumbledore, when you claim guardianship over me, I believe that you lie. If you have taken any sort of oath concerning insuring my well-being, you have violated it continually since I was 20 months old. And secondly, if I were to gather my friends around me, I would certainly not include someone so inconstant as Ronald Weasley. Are there any other subjects that you would like to discuss?"

The cold vitriol evident in Harry's voice shocked both Professors. Professor McGonagall weakly responded, "Mr, Potter, guardianship is …"

Harry swiftly and firmly interrupted, "Those subjects are closed. I did not ask to discuss topics where you have already proven that you are ignoring my desires and well-being. I opened the floor to new topics. Are there any? No? Then I shall see myself out." And before the staff could collect their scattered thoughts, Harry was out the door.

The next morning, Harry was treated to the inexplicable sight of Ronald Weasley descending from the dorms well before breakfast was to be served. Ron approached Harry in a quiet section of the common room and began, "Harry, I don't know why you wouldn't visit during the summer, but I don't want that to hurt our friendship." He extended his right hand for Harry to shake.

Harry derailed Ron's script by refusing to do so. "Swear to me on your magic that this apology is your own idea."

Ron gaped soundlessly at Harry.

Harry turned and walked away. "Idiot." Ron Weasley's association with The-Boy-Who-Lived permanently evaporated at the moment. As Ginny was observed snogging with Dean later that evening, Harry regarded the Weasley complications as 'taken care of'.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The rules for the essay contest were fairly simple; one essay a week, you can enter as many times as you like. Any point that is introduced is "owned" by that author, and if the winning essay uses that point, the winner owes 10 Galleons to the owner. Every essay must introduce a new point to be eligible for the contest – if the same point is introduced by multiple essays in a week, then the essay that is read aloud first takes precedence. And finally, three weeks without a qualifying entry closes the contest, with the last entries judged to find the winner.

The activity among upper years was … explosive. The history books were all but gone from the library. The shelves on wizarding law were similarly empty. There was one book on wizarding ethics that was missing – apparently, it had been immediately stolen from the shelves (somewhat ironically), and the prevailing theory was that so the reader wouldn't have to return it before the contest ended. As none of the missing books had been properly checked out from the library, Madam Pince was furious, and began stalking some of the more egregious offenders through the halls. When she caught up with the objects of her ire, the non-targeted students found it quite entertaining.

Not everyone was attempting the essay writing solo; a few of the more enterprising Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws got together to pool resources and brainpower, but the Slytherins were having none of that – it was strictly an individual thing for them.

There was a significant group of upper years (along with all of the lower years) that didn't think they had any chance at the contest, and they were visibly disappointed at having no chance. Opinions were even divided about whether losing the chance at the money or the fame was more tragic; the last line of the posted contest rules stated that "the essays become the property of Harry Potter for purposes of publication after the closing of the contest," which everyone took to mean that there would be a book published with all of the contest essays, highlighting the winner's contribution to the definition of a Dark Lord.

When asked, Harry confirmed the theory. "Yes, I'm going to compile the essays and write a bit of commentary for the collection. I intend for every participant to get a free copy, but this is how I plan to make back the prize money." Nobody could find fault with that, and Harry was persuaded to donate a free copy to the Hogwarts Library. The idea that their contributions would be published drove excitement in Ravenclaw to an even higher level.

The excitement didn't extend to all the staff however, and one staff member in particular was not impressed. Harry's first DADA class featured zero teaching, a similar amount of learning, and a lot of verbal jabs that Harry declined to acknowledge (mostly because he could see that it made the instructor annoyed.)

"Mr. Potter, please stay after class."

"Yes, Professor Umbridge." Her voice put Harry in mind of sugar-encrusted arsenic; outwardly sweet, but unable to conceal the poison within.

"What do you think you are doing, Mr. Potter?"

"I am currently waiting until I am dismissed so I can attend to personal correspondence, Professor. I'm afraid that you will have to be more specific."

A throat-clearing "Hem, hem," and then (in a slightly less falsely sweet tone), "Are you still lying about the return of You-Know Who?"

Harry braced himself. "Not at all, Professor. First of all, I told the truth about my experiences." Professor Umbridge opened her mouth to speak, but Harry ploughed on. "Second, I've only told Professor Dumbeldore and Minister Fudge, and only the once. Either they or someone that overheard my report must have told the papers, as I have not spoken with a reporter about _any_ subject since the tournament. You've noticed that I refuse to address the subject of Voldemort in your class – and I've done the same during the rest of the day. If someone is stirring up the people about Voldemort's return, it isn't me."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "We'll see just who is at fault, here, Potter…"

" _Mr._ Potter, please, Professor. You have insisted on a level of formality for all your students, but you can't expect to receive formal recognition without giving it to your students; my name is _Mr._ Potter. Between you and Dumbledore, I am beginning to despair of proper etiquette at this place."

"One hour detention, Potter, for cheek. Eight pm on Thursday next." Harry simply turned and left. _We'll see how this plays out. I need to be prepared._

o0O—O0o

The next morning was actually got off to a pretty eventful start. Hermione received a huge stack of paper at breakfast that almost landed in her plate. After thanking the owl, she thumbed through the papers, hummed contentedly, and then plopped them down in front of Harry. "Here's the spell analysis you asked for."

Harry was stunned. "I just asked two days ago! How did you get it done so fast?" From his summer reading, he knew that moving from a spell equation to a full analysis took several months of dedicated effort for just _one_ spell, repeatedly calculating how the magic would behave in different circumstances. He paged through the stack – this was analysis for all three Unforgivables, four different shields, all of the piercing hex formulations … this was easily a year's worth of concentrated work!

Hermione leaned over to him and lowered her voice. "I sent the equations to my Dad, and he used a computer to simplify and graph the variables. With this," she gestured to the reformulated spells, "all you need to do is choose some faux-Latin that matches the rhythm and consonants required, and the wand gestures are built up from the original arithmancy terms to suit the terms of the spell equation."

Harry was thunderstruck.

Hermione went on, "By next summer, I'll be able to add in a database of wand movements so that the program will build them for you. And I'm going to reformulate all the charms, jinxes, curses, and hexes, as well as transfiguration spells we're given in school. I think that I can find reduced power versions for most of them. There's a set of variables that seems to correlate pretty well with magical power requirements."

Harry gaped.

"And the year after that, I'll be working on a database that will create the simplest potion recipe for any purpose you can name." Hermione snorted. "The wizarding world is _stupid_ , Harry. More spells equals more power. They know that information is power, and they do nothing to investigate information about information." Hermione shook her head. "Give me two years after we graduate, and I'll have a database that will cover all wand work, potions, _and_ , I think, universal runes. Integrating them will give me rituals, alchemy, enchanting, healing, and permanent conjuration." Hermione paused and frowned. "I may need to go to University for some study in Maths before I can extend arithmancy to be truly useful, but …"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Tex," Harry interrupted. "I get it. You are going to show that Alexander the Great was lazy, unorganized, and insufficiently focused. I get it." Hermione blushed prettily. "But you need to take some time for yourself, too."

Her face darkened and she looked down, catching his implication. "I know perfectly well what my life is going to be like, Harry. I don't need to spend time dreaming about something that will never happen."

Harry looked at Hermione, next to him at the table, her head down, hair covering her face. _She doesn't leave time in her life for her own happiness because…_

… _because she doesn't believe that she'll have any._

 _I can't tell her differently until Sirius and Remus deliver._

Harry took a deep breath. "'Science was invented because we all tend to fool ourselves'," Harry quoted. "That includes you, even though you're the most brilliant person I know. Think about it," he urged, getting up from the table. "And don't conquer the world without giving me, say, three days warning, ok? I'd have to prepare for something big like that." And Harry quickly strode from the Great Hall, leaving a narrow-eyed girl looking after him.

o0O—O0o

Harry's contest was changing the tone of the school in a very fundamental way; he introduced a motivation for original thinking. But that was nothing compared to how he accidentally rocked Hogwarts two evenings later.

Ron, Seamus, and Dean were arguing over which house had the prettiest witches. Ron was all for Gryffindor purity, Dean was leaning toward Ravenclaw (citing Cho Chang as his proof), and Seamus was willing to slobber over any witch that was available – not that he put it that way, but everyone overhearing knew that's what he meant.

Harry, sitting on a nearby couch in the Gryffidor common room, stopped the conversation by idly remarking, "Beauty is a stupid way to choose a girlfriend."

Ron immediately took offense. "Whadda ya mean, Harry? Ya can't be trying to go out with a girl that you can't stand to see, right?"

Harry looked up from his book and shook his head, smiling faintly. "Look at us, guys," he said, gesturing at them. "I'm short and scrawny, Seamus is a budding alchoholic," Seamus raised his hands to indicate 'fair point', "Dean is only a fair to middling student," Dean followed Seamus' lead, "and Ron – honestly, mate, your table manners make cultured men try to claw their own eyes out. None of us are exactly top of the scale."

"So, what are you trying to say?" Dean was feeling slightly offended.

"Just … think about it. You've managed to land a gorgeous woman, just looking at her makes you lose your mind, right? So what do you think's going to happen when she gets chatted up by a guy taller, richer, smarter, more handsome, more cultured, or more powerful?"

Silence, even from the eavesdroppers.

Eventually, Seamus spoke up. "So what do you think we should do?"

"Well, if the issue is whether or not the girl is loyal, where should you start looking?"

The boys looked at each other, and in unison shouted, "Hufflepuff!"

The fallout wasn't to be seen for a while. But it turned the social order upside down.

o0O—O0o

Harry didn't report for detention on Thursday evening. Defense class remained useless, but no more detentions were handed out. For some reason, Umbridge did not follow up with the detention that Harry refused to attend. Many points were taken, primarily from Harry, but he didn't mind. He barely even noticed, spending his time doing his self-study in runes. After three class periods where he didn't respond to being called upon, he wasn't called on again.

The other students followed suit, turning DADA into study hall. Only students like Ron Weasley, who seemed to have an allergic reaction to schoolbooks, remained unwilling participants in Professor Umbridge's diatribes against all that was unbigoted.

o0O—O0o

The mail delivery at breakfast on Friday next was not what Harry expected. Remus had come through!

 _Harry,_

 _After your letters this summer, Sirius and I did a little thinking about what you need. Your follow-up letters showed us exactly how to go about it. We've got something that will do just what you want. We'll deliver it in a few weeks, enough copies to protect you and your friend, and a sacrificial example._

 _We think that 'losing' one to Professor Snape will be extremely beneficial – your idea has set off a chain reaction of Marauder planning you would not_ believe _._

 _Here's what you need to do…_

Harry's eyes grew wide, then he shook his head. Remus and Sirius were targeting his most urgent foe – not his most important one. He couldn't let himself get sidetracked.

"What's with the letter?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry Hermione," Harry shook his head. "I got a little distracted." He hesitated. "Can you promise not to get a boyfriend for the next month or so?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her face had the hint of a frown. "You know very well that-"

"That you are very pretty," Harry interrupted, "excessively kind – at least to me, the person I depend on for more than anything, and smart enough to eventually discard this idiotic idea of you being undesirable. I'm just asking you to avoid doing that for the next little while, okay?"

Hermione's face indicated a great deal of confusion. "Why?"

Harry leaned in close and whispered, "So that when everything's ready, I get first shot, of course." Hermione's eyes grew extremely wide.

"But I'm not asking yet," said Harry at a normal volume.

Hermione still hadn't gotten her voice working.

"So … that's a yes, I take it," Harry said with a smile. "I'll let you know as soon as everything is set up." He left breakfast at a fast walk.

Hermione watched him go with dazed eyes and a faint smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Sunday of the introductory essay for Harry's contest came – and while there were a few, it seemed that most of the possible contestants were waiting to see how the initial essay were received before committing themselves.

Afterward, Harry spoke with the judges. "I didn't hear anything that sounded like a string of deductions, just a bunch of assertions without any supporting evidence."

Professor Flitwick said, "That is true, Mr. Potter. Perhaps their submissions should be corrected and returned?"

Professor McGonagall agreed. "Quite right. This was hardly their best work." Professors Vector and Babbling murmured agreement.

"OK – I'll copy them, mark up the originals, and return them by tomorrow night," said Harry. Turning to Hermione he said, "And I'll do it on my own – they shouldn't be traumatized by suffering your inspection this early in the contest." He smirked, "I'm saving that for later, when they really need to step up their game."

Hermione slugged Harry's shoulder. "Darn straight!" The two students laughed, and the gathering of judges dispersed. Harry had the feeling that his performance as a judge was being evaluated as strictly as the entries of the contestants were.

He intended to pass. First, he needed those guidelines on Dark Lords – but he also needed the respect of the staff. He was counting on it for stage two.

o0O—O0o

Monday night's dinner in the Great Hall was subdued, in Harry's opinion. It seemed like the normal chatter was dialed down a bit – though Harry realized that none of the wizard-raised had any idea of what a dial actually was.

"Ron, what did you think of DADA today?"

"Umph," was all that Ron could produce as he tried to empty his mouth. After another two tries, he could produce normal speech. "Well, Umbridge isn't going to let us use our wands or even learn _about_ new spells. I don't think that any of us are going to pass our OWLs with her in charge."

Hermione was a little taken aback. "Since when do you think about grades and OWLs, Ron?"

Ron was affronted. "I do so think about schoolwork! It's obvious that Snape –"

" _Professor_ Snape, Ron."

Ron bulled over Hermione's objection, " _Snape_ will never give a Gryffindor a fair grade, much less teach me enough to get a Potions NEWT, so being an Auror is out. But with a good DADA NEWT, I could go into private security after I retire from quiddich. With a good Charms NEWT, I could design brooms," and Ron raised his hand at Hermione to forestall her objections, "and DADA has a lot of overlap with Charms. If I can't learn DADA, my Charms grade will fall. I just can't learn what I need to from her," and Ron hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the staff table.

Both of Ron's former friends were a little taken aback. "I had no idea that you plotted your future that carefully, Ron," said Harry.

Ron cocked his head to the side. "Well, I've got a lot riding on it. And it's not a lot different than chess, isn't it? I mean, the end game requires certain things at a certain place at a certain time, which means that you've got to do some things _now_ so they're ready for what you need _then_."

"That's … that's pretty perceptive, Ron," said Hermione.

"Yeah, well – I'm gonna have to do something, and it'll probably end up being more study. I hope that I can find a decent book … hey, Hermione, can you find me a good book to study from? I bet you already know a bunch that would work."

And like that, they were off, Harry saw. They put their heads together as Hermione suggested a book and described its strengths and weaknesses, and Ron would mull it over before asking for another option. Harry turned back to his food. This could take forever, he figured – Ron's ideal and what was available were pretty far apart. At least Ron was acting civilly; the first few days after school began, Ron was alternating between ignoring Harry and badgering him to play chess. After Harry's repeated refusal to take time away from studying, Ron seemed to settle down into the 'new normal.' He seemed to understand that their friendship was over, at least; the chess games were his misguided attempt to create it anew.

A few students were finished and began to leave the hall when Professor McGonagall stood and called, "Students, we have an announcement regarding the essay contest directly after the meal. If you were a presenter last night, please stay after the meal for Mr. Potter's announcement of the results."

The background noise grew in volume and pace. Fortunately, it was only a few minutes more before Professor McGonagall nodded to Harry indicating that he was to start.

Harry stood, made his way to the front of the hall, and looked around for a spare seat. Finding none, he looked back at Professor Flitwick and asked, "Could you?" while gesturing at the floor by his side.

The Professor nodded, and conjured a stool for Harry to stand on. "Thanks!" he called as he climbed.

Facing the students, Harry pulled a sheaf of parchment out of his robes. "The essays presented last night are now the property of the DLCC – the Dark Lord Criteria Contest. And frankly …" Harry let his words trail off.

"Frankly, I am embarrassed to own such insipid blathering." The students erupted in shouted comments, some agreeing, but most offended. Harry raised his voice to be heard. "Each of the essays have been corrected – solely by me – and will be returned to their creator. If this is the standard of work that I can expect, the prize will not be awarded to anyone. To demonstrate the level of reasoning expected, I have written a sample essay, and will be posting it at the back of the Great Hall for all of you to read. Hopefully, next week's efforts will show some argumentative skill."

Harry paused, as the students quieted down and listened. "All of the judges agreed with me, so this is not a temper tantrum – this is an actual concern about substandard work turned in with the expectation of earning 500 Galleons. I'm not giving this money away, people – I'm giving you a chance to _earn_ it."

With that, Harry jumped down from the stool and walked to the back of the hall. He placed a small-ish length of parchment there and affixed it with a sticking charm. As he walked away, the essay was hit with a small barrage of spells from somewhere behind him. Harry whirled to find both Professors Babbling and Vector putting their wands away. Professor Babbling nodded to Harry and said, "That will keep it clean and undamaged. Everyone needs to read this and base the next set of responses on this standard." Harry grinned, gave a lazy salute, and left.

The second set of essays were … acceptable.

o0O—O0o

Harry wasn't really in the loop for social gossip; if Ron didn't tell him about it, he was left with overhearing whatever Parvati and Lavender discussed during their meals. And since Ron wasn't really talking to Harry more than he had to, Harry was completely out of the loop. He was totally thrown when he was confronted by a small mob of pretty young women as he left dinner that Tuesday night. He could barely hear something that sounded like, "You talk to him," as a petite red-head was pushed to the front of the group.

"Hi, Susan," said Harry.

She smiled. "I, um, we, that is … we want to know who you want to date," Susan finally got out.

"Um …. What?" Harry was completely unprepared for this.

"Well, we heard that it was you that said that 'Puffs are the best to date, and so before we started up with anyone, we wanted to know if there was anyone you … fancied," she trailed off. Susan's face was rapidly becoming the same shade as her hair.

Harry looked at the small mob of young ladies. It looked like all the female third through fifth year 'Puffs were there, as well as a few sixth years. He hoped that none of the Seconds were concealed in the crowd.

He looked again at Susan. "Well, I'm not really in the market for a girlfriend, Miss Bones. And as I recall, what I did was simply point out to my dorm that none of us are really drool-worthy, and that their best shot at actually _keeping_ a girlfriend was if she was really loyal." He paused. "But there is a problem that I hope you all might be able to help me with."

The girls seemed to surge forward.

Harry's voice lowered. "I have a friend that is being bullied. The only response I have," and here Harry looked Susan right in the eyes, "will leave terror and rivers of blood in my wake as I destroy the entire House of Ravenclaw. Help me protect Luna." And in a whisper he added, "Help me to not kill them all."

Susan's face went from flushed to pale as Harry spoke. He was unaware that he was projecting his magic along with his emotions – the Lady Hufflepuffs understood that he was _not_ speaking metaphorically. Or exaggerating. A flat soprano voice from behind her said, "We've got this. Come on, girls." And the crows departed, with seemingly all the girls giving Harry sidelong looks as they left. Whereas before, they were appraising him, now quite a few were wide eyed with expressions Harry couldn't quite place. _Oh, well. It's not like I wanted to date any of them, anyway_.

o0O—O0o

Professor McGonagall asked Harry to stay after Transfiguration class on Wednesday. She began with, "Mr. Potter, this sample essay shows real flair and reasoning. I have not seen this level of eloquence in your work for my class."

Harry immediately shot back with, "My assignments for this class do not give me anything to be eloquent about."

Professor McGonagall was quiet a moment, and then murmured, "Touché."

Harry went on, "And my school assignments are to show that I have understood the material. The essays are investigating a new ethical framework by which to judge a wizard or witch's actions. Assignments must demonstrate knowledge. Essays must show insight and be persuasive. There is little to compare the two except that they are both written on parchment."

The Professor took out a parchment that Harry recognized as his example essay, and began to read.

 _The history of our society is periodically punctuated by upheavals and uprisings against the established government. In some cases, these movements are aimed at replacing the governmental system entirely, as with the Cromwellians attempts to enslave the magical world to fit their religious precepts. In the vast majority of cases, however, the perpetrator is labelled a 'Dark Lord'._

 _We have no objectively verifiable criteria for being a Dark Lord, leaving open the possibility of unrecognized Dark Masters of both genders, and the probability that a would-be despot is incorrectly assigned the title. But we cannot count on the usurpers correctly identifying themselves, the first reason being that relying on the honesty of a Dark Lord is blatant stupidity at best. Anyone seeking to overthrow the government may choose to lie as a matter of policy, preference, strategy, tactics, or habit …_

The Professor left off reading and said, "Harry, this is engaging, concise, and leads the reader to understand your reasoning. If you are at all looking for additional income, I would suggest that you think about writing textbooks."

Harry was ... taken aback. "What subject could need a new textbook? I would think that all the subjects are already sufficiently covered."

A thin smile briefly appeared on the Professor face, leading Harry to wonder if he was hallucinating. "Both Potions and Defense are subjects that students continually feel the need to teach themselves from a textbook. History as well, but for different reasons. And there are subjects that are not taught here at Hogwarts, such as Household Charms, Construction, Enchanting, Alchemy, Warding, Healing, and Rituals."

Harry was flabbergasted. "Why are there so many textbooks needed?"

"Because, frankly, the teachers frequently have very poor skills at putting down their knowledge in text. Many of the most knowledgeable are poor teachers to begin with, but as they are the ones offering apprenticeships, the students have little-to-no-choice. A good textbook would make the life of the Master easier, as well as increase the quality of the apprentices."

Harry mulled it over.

"Just think about it, Mr. Potter. And if there are any outstanding entries in the DLCC, I will suggest the same to them. It is a sorely neglected field in need of improvement."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The majority of Ravenclaw was extremely quiet on Thursday morning. This could easily have been because of the injuries most sported – arms in slings, bandages around a hand (or head), and the like. But Harry would have bet money it was because they were all under wandpoint as they sat at their table. He recognized their guards as 'Puffs, mostly female, and sporting extremely unfriendly expressions. Harry decided that Luna was in good hands, and left well enough alone.

The other students seemed to agree – nobody was willing ask what was going on, or even suggest loudly that something was different than the usual routine. Oddly, Professor Flitwick clearly sanctioned whatever had happened, and was calmly eating breakfast, but there was no joy in the normally cheerful Professor's face.

As Harry finished up his breakfast, chatting quietly with Hermione about upcoming assignments, Luna walked from where she was sitting (at the _Hufflepuff_ table!) and approached Harry. She simply bent a little to kiss his cheek, said, "Thank you," and left the Hall.

Hermione smiled, waited for a flustered Harry to regain his train of thought, and kept on with their conversation. It wasn't until after lunch that Harry realized just how far out of the loop he really was: Hermione, and the rest of the students, knew what was going on; they seemed to know why it was happening; and Harry didn't have any advance warning and wasn't even told _after_ the fact just what had happened. _I really have to start paying attention!_

o0O—O0o

Harry found himself … annoyed. The essay contest had been going well, creating a structured list of behavior that signaled being a Dark Lord, but last night, the contest was sidetracked. A coalition of Ravenclaws had suggested an alternative basis for Wizarding ethics, and Harry wasn't happy about the idiocy that represented. He signaled Professor McGonagall, and received an answering nod.

She stood in the middle of the dinner cacophony, and shot a large boom from her wand. The Great Hall quieted, as Professor McGonagall announced, "There is an announcement for all students involved in the Dark Lord Criteria Contest. Please remain after dinner for an important announcement."

As students left to study, fly, or create mayhem (whether social or magical), a large group left their seats and congregated at the head of their house tables. Harry stood at the head of the Hall, snagged a chair from the 'Puff table, and climbed up.

"An essay presented last night had as its main criteria, 'An it harm none, do as thou wilt.' This precept is commonly found in the muggle world as the 'ethical guideline'," (and here Harry made air quotes,) "commonly associated with _their_ idea of witchcraft." There was a small snigger running through the group. Harry smiled thinly. "Some students that are theoretically intelligent have tried to import this idea to the real Wizarding world. I have some analysis for all those that think this is a valid ethical standard."

Harry cleared his throat and began his barrage. "So to begin with, let's examine this idea of 'harm.' Does it only include physical harm, or does emotional harm count? What about economic harm? Social harm? Intellectual harm? Spiritual harm? If a young child is spanked to teach them not to play with fire, or poisonous plants, or dangerous animals – does that count? After all, they are experiencing pain – but it is for their eventual good. How does the 'An it harm none' rule apply there? Is pain actual harm? After all, the Crucio curse is nothing but pain, so it would have to follow the same rules that you use for spankings, right? Unless, of course, you want to start making distinctions based on the amount of pain – which can lead to some uncomfortable situations. You would have to justify having a cutoff for pain, along with where the cutoff was. And what about medical procedures; vanishing a bone can be classified as harm, even though you intend to grow it back overnight. Is that real harm? And does changing your intent after the bones are vanished count as harm? After all, you aren't actually doing anything, just not repairing damage that is already done."

The vast majority of students were following and accepting Harry's train of thought.

"Just by thinking about these questions, and following where the answers lead shows that the completely undefined nature of 'harm' is a real impediment to using this as an ethical precept. But another undefined problem in this statement is 'none'."

"Who qualifies for consideration? Does a child have to be given full ethical consideration under this law? If not, when do they receive full protection? Why at that point in their lives and not earlier or later? Is this consideration changed by their heritage? Centaurs, merfolk, house-elves, veela, hags, and goblins are all able to converse and do magic - do their people receive ethical protection? Are we to be considerate of werewolves and vampires? They only differ from you and I because of a magical illness, so if they are not to be protected, do your rights evaporate when you contract Wizard Pox? And what about non-magical people; they are fully people, of the same race as wizard kind, so under what grounds would they be included or excluded? If the level of magic one has matters, what are the rights of squibs? Can the cutoff for rights be set higher than that? Why or why not? Does it matter if a person belongs to a family that is represented on the Wizengamot? Why or why not? Are women – who traditionally cannot serve as family heads – granted the same protections as their husbands? What about unmarried women? Unmarried men? Each group is treated differently under the law in certain circumstances – any statement that a group is not to be discriminated against will have to show why, and the reverse for groups that are given special rules."

"And then there's the unnamed actor in all this; who determines if harm is done, and if the individual claiming harm is to be protected? Is it the witch or wizard causing the action that is being judged? Is it the person experiencing harm? Are neutral observers required for all actions? Just whose judgement is being used?"

"The basic truth seems to be that this rule – 'An it harm none, do as thou wilt' – is simply an excuse to justify unethical behavior. Because the critical defining terms are actually undefined, it invites the wizard or witch to justify their behavior by redefining, on the fly, the ethical guidelines to permit whatever they desire to do. This rule is useless in defining a Dark Lord, and it is for the same reason useless in giving ethical guidance to anyone."

Harry paused, and his next words were in an I-am-deadly-serious tone. "I expected better of you. This essay will appear in the eventual book. Along with my rebuttal. And all of you that submitted this travesty will have your names attached, along with my recommendation that none of you be given positions of responsibility – if you are trying to justify any actions now, when you have no actions to justify, then I shudder to think what you will do once you have goals, power, and actions that need to be scrutinized. If you wish to disband your group and join other groups, I won't stop you… but I will tell them that they are under no obligation to accept you."

The students were stunned. One lone voice from the 'Claw table was heard, "But it was just for fun!"

Harry responded in a clear, firm tone. "This contest has a serious aim. You thought to derail that by introducing ideas that are harmful to our society, and you did not show that harm in your analysis. To save my contest, I had to step on this idea, and hard. To save our society, I had to step on _you_ – hard. My reaction stands. Your actions will be scrutinized, and you can show yourselves to be trustworthy or not by what you do – just like everyone else. Your actions have suggested that you need special attention, and your future actions will show if additional attention is warranted. If you turn away from this … idiocy," and Harry waved the offending essay in emphasis, "your actions will show that. If you continue following this path of self-indulgence, you will receive what your actions dictate. You brought it on yourselves."

Harry walked out of the Great Hall leaving a completely silent group of students behind. The staff, seated unnoticed at the head of the Hall, glanced meaningfully at each other. Regardless of the number of heads at the staff table, there was only one thought, shared by all. _That was pure, concentrated Lily Potter._

The next week's essays were the best he'd seen yet.

o0O—O0o

Snape was being … unpleasant, but Harry knew how to deal with him by now. Umbridge was presiding over the most useless class Hogwarts had ever seen – and given the tenure of Professor Binns, that was really saying something. But she was being cautious about interfering with the students and staff of the school, for some reason, which meant that for September and October, Harry's schooling was fairly uneventful. Malfoy and his entourage were also staying uncharacteristically quiet – Harry figured that his new behavior spooked them and they didn't know how to handle it. Each encounter with Malfoy gave Harry an opportunity to demonstrate his unimpeachable _sang-froid_ , and further confused the Slytherin.

Well, he did have the Contest to preside over. The entries had become more penetrating and insightful; so far, the students had shown that a Dark Lord could be classified by their pursuit of political power, total disregard for the truth, and abuse of their own followers. Claiming to be a good guy wasn't a valid defense, and money – spending or amassing – was irrelevant. Oddly, the issue of actually using dark magic was never addressed, much to Harry's secret delight. He made sure to not point that out to anyone.

All the necessary pieces that Harry needed were already there, and the contest looked like it was winding down. No new ideas had surfaced in the last week, so if the first two weeks of November were also rehashes of what was already known, then the contest would be over, and Harry could begin Phase Two.

Harry was really looking forward to that.

o0O—O0o

The day before Halloween, the package that Harry was waiting for arrived, carried by Hedwig. A box a little smaller than a ream of Muggle paper had a letter tied to the top, which was where Harry directed his attention.

"Whacha got, Harry?"

Harry ignored the spray of eggs, sausage, and toast that accompanied Ron's question. "For the last time, Ron, if you don't clean up your table manners, I will _not_ sit with you during meals. That's disgusting!" Hermione's standard meal-time rant helped Harry carefully direct attention away from his package, placing it down by his side, and continued with his breakfast.

Later, as everyone was finishing up, Harry murmured to Hermione, "When is the earliest that we can talk privately?"

Her eyes lit up, clearly remembering all the delayed conversations that Harry owed her. "Right after Herbology," she replied _sotto voice_.

"Plan on it." Harry replied, and they joined the other 5th year Gryffindors for their daily schedule of classes.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Hermione, do you trust Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore is our Headmaster, the Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, and a very wise man, Harry. He deserves our respect!"

Harry raised his hand. "I know how you feel about him. But nothing in what you said indicates whether you trust him or not. I need to know if you trust him."

Hermione paused and thought it over. "Professor Dumbledore is a very powerful wizard, has studied extensively, and is one of the critically important people in our government. We need to trust him. He deserves our trust for all that he's done for us – our society."

Harry responded, "And while you note that we _should_ trust him, and that he _deserves_ our trust, you didn't say if you _do_ trust him. Do you believe that he knows what he is doing? I need an unambiguous statement, here. Do - you - trust - him?"

Hermione sighed and gave Harry full eyes contact. "Yes, Harry. I trust Professor Dumbledore. I believe that he knows what he is doing, and I support him in his efforts, even if I don't immediately know what's going on, because he - is - our - leader." Her imitation of his question made Harry sigh and sit back, his gaze dropping to the table of the spare classroom they had appropriated.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Harry paused. "Then you can at least check my reasoning. First of all, do you agree that I seem to be continually targeted by Voldemort?"

Hermione frowned, but agreed.

"This seems to be ongoing, and shows no sign of stopping. Do you agree that Dumbledore knows of this?"

Exasperation laced her reply, "Of course _Professor_ Dumbledore knows, Harry."

"Skip the insistence on titles, Hermione – we'll address that later, if you want. I expect that these attacks will continue. Do you agree that this is logical and that Dumbledore should expect that?"

Subdued at Harry's tone, Hermione replied, "Yes."

"Am I receiving any extra schooling or training to prepare me for these expected attacks?"

"No."

"In our first year, Dumbledore did not do anything to help me defend myself against Voldemort. He _may_ have arranged the encounter," Harry waved off Hermione's protest, "But it was my own efforts, unguided by Dumbledore, which saved me. In our second year, I used a sword, which is a completely unfamiliar weapon, to kill a basilisk. It was a miracle I survived, and there was no reason to expect that Fawkes would help me live – Dumbledore cannot be credited with my survival. Two years ago, it was my own efforts to learn the Patronus charm – and my own desperation to save Sirius – that led to my survival; Dumbledore had nothing to do with it. And last year, looking back during the tournament and afterwards, we can see that events were completely out of Dumbledore's control. Is there anything in that list that you would argue with?"

"You really – no, we'll get to that later. You seem to have it all correct."

"And the pattern I see is that Dumbledore will not save me. He may set up a conflict, but whether I live or not seems to be up to my own efforts. True?"

Reluctantly, "Yes."

"And since the attacks will not stop, I'm not getting any help to defend myself, and I'm not getting trained for the events, this will continue to happen … until eventually Voldemort wins, and I am dead."

"Oh, Harry!"

Harry went on inexorably, "And Dumbledore knows this. All of the evidence points to Dumbledore knowing that I'm going to get killed, and since he doesn't offer any preparation, we can conclude that he believes my death is preferable to the alternative. He may reluctantly assent to it, or he may actively plan for it, but for the Headmaster of my school, my death is _not_ something to be avoided."

They both sat in silence for quite a while, Hermione's eyes quite watery.

"Is there anything wrong with my reasoning?" Harry's voice had a formal tone to his request.

Hermione responded in kind, "No, Harry. Your conclusions are supported by the available evidence, and I have no evidence to the contrary." She then leaned over the small desk and hugged him tightly.

Harry patted her on the back, took her by the shoulders, and gently pushed her away so that he could make eye contact. "So, do you trust Dumbledore?"

Eyes wide, Hermione shook her head. "B.. b.. but, he's … _Dumbledore_!"

"So, let's take it further." Hermione sat back in her chair with rapt attention. "We know that Dumbledore … keeps his own counsel, as they say. He does not share information with anyone. We know that _he_ knows why Voldemort is attacking me, but refuses to share that."

Hermione made a gesture that said, keep going.

"The only reason I can come up with to justify his secrecy is that he believes that my behavior would change if he told me – I would do something different. He wants me to continue down this path, and is deliberately withholding information so that I continue on this path. This path that leads to my death," Harry said evenly.

"He knows that my behavior would change, and doesn't believe that I would trust him to continue my present behavior. So, Dumbledore knows information that I should know, but doesn't tell me because I would then not trust him. Am I correct?"

Hermione was troubled. "I … think so."

"I've thought and thought, but I can't come up with any alternatives that are substantially different from that. And that means …" Harry took a breath. "That means that I should not trust Dumbledore. He knows that reasons to not trust him exist. I now know that, too. I don't have to know the exact reasons, I just need to know that they are there. And since those reasons exist, I cannot trust him anymore."

Hermione slowly nodded. "I agree."

Harry straightened up and spoke more briskly. "So I have no support from the staff. To survive, I need more skills, more knowledge, and more allies. I studied all summer,"

"-Oh!" Hermione understood where all the new thoughts were coming from.

"-and I spent a lot of my time learning to think. Hermione, my parents died. My guardians are neglectful and abusive. No adult has my trust, because they have never showed anything beyond disinterest to me. The only exceptions are Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. But they both have shown that they have put their own interests above mine, and I can therefore not trust my future to them blindly."

Harry paused to take a deep breath.

"From the very beginning, you have stood by me. You are the only person that I can trust to believe me when I say something, to tell me when I've screwed up, to forgive me when I hurt you. You would be a crowning jewel in the house of Ravenclaw, but Helga Hufflepuff herself would spill blood for you to represent the House of the Badgers. I need you, Hermione, but not for your mind; I need you because of your extraordinary _heart_."

Tears were running down her face, completely unable to obscure the enormous smile she wore.

"Everything I'm doing this year is to support my goal of living my own life. But there's a weakness in my plans, and Sirius and Remus have given me a fix." Harry fiddled with his wand. "But it's a little extreme."

"What is it!" Hermione was eager to get on with it – just as Harry was trying to delay.

"I've noticed that Snape shows that he knows things that I've never told him. I've also noticed that Dumbledore frequently shows that he knows things that other people believe that they have kept secret. My suspicion is that one or both of them are using mind reading spells and they may also be comparing notes."

"So what's the way to fix it?" Harry noticed that Hermione was no longer believing in their Headmaster's benevolence.

"Sirius and Remus gave me a defense for 'mental intrusion'. The first step," Harry pulled out the package from his schoolbag and opened it, "is to put on one of these rings." Harry pulled out a large-ish ring box and showed Hermione the rings inside – three golden rings embedded in the velvet interior. Each had runes inlaid on the outside and inside surface of the ring. "I'm supposed to 'lose' a ring to Snape. Sirius won't tell me why, but has given me a few pointers on how to make Snape want one."

Harry went on, but with uncertainty in his voice. "These gold rings are for us – that's why there's three of them, one for me, one for Snape, and one for you. And because they're gold … Hermione, they're _rings_."

Both were quiet for a while. Hermione wasn't handling Harry's silence at all well – she was almost bouncing in her seat, eager for the conclusion she was sure was coming.

Harry finally went on in a soft voice, "It can't be an engagement or betrothal ring, it's too soon for a promise ring," Hermione went perfectly still, "but right now, I can give you a friendship ring. In the future, if you want-"

"Yes!" Hermione launched herself over to Harry's lap and hugged his breath away. Just before he turned blue, she released him and asked, "But what alternatives were you going to suggest?"

"What?"

"I want this, but I still want to know what all my options are," she said primly. Harry broke down laughing.

It was her turn to ask, "What?"

He choked out, "Never change, 'Mione." Hermione looked askance at Harry, but then relaxed as his laughter faded.

Harry took a ring out of the box. "Hermione, I meant it. Your mind is brilliant and sometimes overwhelming, but it's your heart that I need. Your friendship has made all the difference in the last four years, and I don't want to _ever_ find out what the world looks like without it. You are my first and best friend … and I want to see just how much better it can get. Will you wear this as my girlfriend?"

Harry was shocked when Hermione let out a squeal; she wasn't much for "girly" behavior as far as Harry knew. She extended her hand (the left one, Harry noticed), and guided Harry to put the ring on her third finger. She reached over to the ring box, extracted a gold ring, and caught Harry's left hand. Looking Harry in the eye, she slowly slid the ring down his ring finger.

As soon as she stopped touching the ring, Harry's body convulsed, Harry let out a strangled scream, and he slid to the floor, unconscious as a small stream of black smoke drifted skyward from his forehead.

o0O—O0o

Harry came to with his head cradled in Hermione's lap. His first reaction to Hermione's caresses was to murmur, "Sometimes life just really sucks."

Hermione didn't startle, but showed admirable restraint as she simply asked, "Why?"

"'Cause the best stuff happens to me while I'm unconscious. I'd really rather be present for wonderful events like this," he said lazily.

Hermione bent over and hugged him. "It looked painful at first, when your scar burst open. But it seems to be all cleared up, now." Harry would have preferred to stay in her lap, but Hermione helped him sit up. She transfigured a mirror so Harry could see – his scar was now a faded white line on his forehead, barely visible.

He sat, looking at his reflection for a moment, then handed the mirror back. "I think that I should be able to say that I haven't discussed the change in my scar with anyone – the interrogation could get messy, otherwise." He met Hermione's gaze directly. "But I'll offhandedly mention that I feel great, and I officially attribute the change to the fact that I've got a girlfriend."

Hermione's smile briefly appeared. "I should hope _so_ , Mr. Potter." They smirked a bit at each other, then left to join their fellow Gryffindor's in the tower.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The next day, Harry moved his hand to his pocket as he entered the Potions classroom. Thinking very distinctly, "Give me detention!" he made eye contact with the malevolent Professor sitting at the head of the room. As the Professor's eyes narrowed, Harry jammed his finger into the ring concealed in his pocket. The Professor's eyes widened for a moment, then his chin dipped downward briefly.

It was enough.

o0O—O0o

As Harry approached his detention in the Potion classroom, he reviewed everything that Padfoot and Moony had revealed in their correspondence during the summer. _It should work_. Having the brass to try it, though – Harry was having issues with that. _Am I a Gryffindor or not?_ He went in the door.

Snape was sitting at the head of the empty classroom, his face blank. He gestured for Harry to take a seat at the desk immediately in front of him. Harry complied, and waited for the man to speak.

"You asked for this meeting, Mr. Potter?" Snape's tone was neutral, and gave nothing away. Harry also noted that Snape was at least minimally respectful. That was new.

Harry took a deep breath. He wasn't as calm as he was letting on. At least, he hoped he wasn't letting on. "Sir, I have discovered that you apparently owe a life debt to my father." As Snape tensed, Harry went on in a deliberate fashion, "And I can imagine that you find this profoundly irritating." Snape subsided again. "I am willing to discharge this debt in my father's name, that it will never have claim on you again."

Snape let the silence after Harry's statement stretch before he answered, "And I suppose that you would have me commit suicide, or something of the sort?"

"Of course not," Harry replied immediately. "After hearing the story from Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin, I believe that this debt is, at best, minimal, as you were tricked into the situation. I want to plan this action so that it will be achieved with minor risk on your part."

"Since my debt is 'at best, minimal', why do you believe that I can be compelled to do this task?" Snape was proving that his mind was as sharp as his tongue.

"From your behavior, clearly some part of this debt irritates you. As my father's heir, I am prepared to discharge all debts owed him, from the magically binding to simply ethically owed, in return for this one task. This one task, faithfully carried out, will repay all favors and balance _all_ debts to James Potter."

Snape studied Harry for another long while, the silence stretching out around them.

"And if I don't find that my debt is worth doing this … thing?"

Harry's voice was low and quiet. "I am also my mother's heir, sir. I call on all debts you may owe to Lilly … Evans. This one task will wipe both slates clean. Complete … absolution." Harry was aware that he was laying all his cards on the table for the inspection of a consummate Slytherin, but he needed trust more than a good bargain.

Snape sat forward slowly. "And what is this task you need done, Mr. Potter?"

Harry slowly brought his hand above the desk to show the golden ring on his finger. "This ring cuts off all mental communication and influence. I want you to give one to … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named … with an explanation."

"And what is this story?"

"I am using this ring to control when I have contact with Vol-," Snape tensed, "The Dark Lord's mind. When it's on, I am free. When I take it off, I am prepared to see through his eyes and collect information on what he plans on doing. I want you to take it to him and tell him this, implying that with this ring on, he will be immune to my prying."

Again, Harry was studied very closely by malevolent, dark eyes. "And will that be the case?"

"Yes, actually. I fully expect that I will not be bothered by nightmares given by Voldemort again." Snape reacted a little to his Dark Master's name, but was otherwise still.

"And what did you want to arrange with me?"

"If you need a public event for corroborating stories, or a memory to give credence to the story, I want to be able to arrange what you need."

Snape considered, another stretch of silence that left Harry uncomfortable.

"I believe that an offered memory would increase suspicion, rather than allay it. I am not in the habit of letting anyone rummage through my head, and offering access to my memories would be suspiciously different behavior."

Harry wasn't sure what 'allay' meant, but he got the idea.

"May I inspect the ring?"

Harry took another gold ring from his shirt pocket and laid it on the Professor's desk. Snape brought up his wand, pointed it at the ring, and whispered a long string of words that Harry couldn't hear. The runes on the ring glowed a deep, vibrant blue, for a slow count of three, and then the glow faded away.

"There are no spells on the ring; the magic is entirely created by the runes." Laying on the desk, they could both see the runes running on both the inside and outside of the ring. "I believe that I will tell … Him … that there were two spells on the ring; one to prevent taking it off, and one to suspend the first spell if the wearer is Harry Potter. I believe that this will divert his attention from the way the ring was acquired."

"Is there anything else you wish of me?"

"No, sir."

"Then your 'detention' with me is complete. You may go."

"Thank you, sir." Harry paused before opening the door. "Sir, I am unsure of how the ring might interact with your Dark Mark. I would not advise putting the ring on."

Snape nodded, and waved Harry out the door.

 _The spell is cast – let's see if it will hit the target._

o0O—O0o

The first week of November, Professor Snape gave Harry another detention, for that evening in his office.

Harry attended, to find a similar situation with his previous detention. Without being ordered, he sat.

Professor Snape began without preliminaries, "Did you know what the ring would do to … the Dark Lord?"

"I knew that it would prevent him from invading my mind with visions, interrupting my sleep. Other than that, I do not know what effect that ring might have on him."

Professor Snape regarded Harry thoughtfully. "Where did you acquire that ring?"

"It was made for me by a … creative individual … who wants me to survive. I wear one, and my girlfriend wears one. I was told that convincing Voldemort to wear one of his own free will and choice would have extremely beneficial results."

Again, a thoughtful appraisal. Abruptly, "The Dark Lord is dead. For good, this time, according to the Dark Mark."

Harry's eyebrows crawled toward his hairline. "Really? How did _that_ happen?"

"The ring cut all mental ties he had to anyone. I theorize that it also cut all the ties he had, going anywhere, destroying his anchors to this world, and eliminating his connection to his followers. As his soul passed on – much to his disapproval, mind you – the magic keeping his replacement body intact dissolved, leaving a puddle of blood, a bone, and a decaying severed hand." Pause. "The Death Eaters attending him were quite stunned, but they seemed to think that I had something to do with the event. I did not stay to discuss it."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, took deep breath, and said, "Thank you for telling me, sir. I am now able to focus on my prophesied encounter."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "The Dark Lord you are to vanquish was not … _The_ Dark Lord?"

Harry stood. "I believe that the audience for a prophecy is as critical to understanding it as the words of that prophesy." Without being dismissed, Harry left.

Snape was deep in thought.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 **A Mirror conversation that night**

"Well, we started looking at why the Dark Tosser didn't die. And I came up with nothing."

Remus took it from there. "But we started with what we knew – that Lord Moldyshorts didn't die. That implied that he had some sort of anchor keeping his soul from crossing over. So I started going through Padfoot's library, looking for rituals that create an anchor. Even with your description of what happened in the graveyard, it was still slow going."

They were all silent for a moment out of respect – for Harry, respect for Cedric, and the Marauders, for Harry.

"And then," Sirius took up the story, "I pointed out that we could never be sure which specific ritual Ol Moldy used, so we needed a generic attack that would work on all kinds of rituals."

"So while Paddy here provided money and lodgings, I worked on a runic array that would attack the weakest part of any anchoring ritual, and we put it in the rings. To provide a cover for it, I made it into an over-broad protection against mental and soul-based intrusions, and we slipped the dangerous part through any inspection by making the ring hollow, with several runic surfaces inside."

"Eh?" Harry was lost.

Remus slipped into his professorial mode. "Think of an anchor, Harry. There's the boat, which in this case would be that bastard's blackened, shriveled, desiccated soul. That's what we don't want to have to deal with, so attacking that is out. Then there's the anchor itself. A hunk of heavy iron, and in this case, we don't know what was used to keep Voldy's soul in the realm of the living. We don't want to have to deal with that, either – because there's a third piece to an anchor. _The rope_."

Harry's eyes went wide.

"By simply cutting all tethers coming from the outside world into the person, we've created a shell that cannot be connected to any mental or soul links." Remus frowned. "It should also disrupt any soul bonds, but since those are strictly mythical, I wasn't too concerned about that."

"What about familiars?" asked Hermione.

Remus frowned. "I believe that the familiar bond is a bond of magic, not of the soul or mind. As such, it should be unaffected by the ring's protection." He shifted uncomfortably. "Did Hedwig have any unusual reactions to you after you took the ring off again?"

Harry closed his eyes in thought. "No, I don't think so. I mean, she's always been kind of touchy if I don't visit her every few days …"

"So if that's the same, then the runic shell doesn't affect Familiar Bonds. Good," said Remus, with an air of finality.

"And so if we set up a situation where 'Ol Voldy put on the ring of his own free will – we didn't misrepresent the effect of the ring, he just wasn't cautious enough about how certain types of magic affected him. Totally not my fault," said Sirius virtuously. It was an attitude that Sirius was unfamiliar with, but he managed to pull it off this time.

Remus changed the subject, "So how did the new air pistol modifications work out for you?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I haven't had to use it yet, and I haven't been able to practice with the select fire setting. I mean, Hogwarts doesn't really have a firing range …"

o0O—O0o

It was the last Monday in November, and the essay entries were now accepted as part of the week's entertainment. Harry consulted with the judges; all agreed that the contest seemed to have run its course, as nothing new was added to the debate in the last three weeks.

Part of that might have been the … distraction … that seemed to envelop the upper years. Quite a few seventh years and one or two sixth years were simply wandering through their daily schedules, dazed and barely responsive. As most of those affected were Slytherins, Harry surmised that Riddle's unexpected demise was throwing them for a loop. None of the wanna-be Death Eaters were in the running for the contest prize, so Harry was merely amused by their empty, vacant stares. In any case, it was time.

Harry checked his robe; he had removed the right pocket to give access to his waistband, where the air pistol was ready to hand. His wand was tucked into the wrist holster on his left hand. The winning essay was in front of him on the table. One of Moony's little gifts was on his finger, and the other little gift that Remus had sent was in Hermione's hands – she knew when to turn it on. _It's time to confront the Dark Lord._

The evening meal was winding down, and Harry was expected to announce the essay winner. It was what the students and staff weren't expecting that was driving Harry into nervous overdrive. As if from a far-off distance, he heard, "… will now award the 500 galleons. Harry?"

Harry got up with the essay in hand and walked to the front of the Great Hall. He had finally given up on conjuration for a stool; instead, he tossed a small wooden block to the ground and with a swish of his wand, transfigured it into a step-stool. Once atop his perch, Harry took a deep breath. _Showtime._

"As stipulated in the rules at the beginning of the school year, the contest has ended. No new points have been made for the past three weeks, so the essays from the last three weeks have been judged, and the panel of judges have declared a winner. Professor Flitwick?"

The charms professor made his way out from behind the staff table, carrying the bag of Galleons. The students were buzzing with excitement – almost literally, which was something that Harry found amusing. Harry unrolled the essay in his hands and announced, "The winning essay included all the undisputed points that had been brought up before, and added the criteria of _hypocrisy_ : Dark Lords demand the Rule of Law for their own defense, but refuse to extend those protections to their followers or the public in general. So the winner of the prize money is … Takashi Noda!" Takashi jumped up from the Ravenclaw table and received the prize money, grinning widely. As he moved to take his seat again, Harry went on, "I have a few more things to announce, but I need to make a demonstration first. Professor Dumbledore, if you will indulge me?"

The Headmaster nodded from his place at the staff table. Harry continued, "I need Professor Flitwick to put a small target, no more than 3 inches in diameter, on the wall. And I'd like you, Headmaster, to protect it. I want you to do everything you can to keep me from hitting the target, and the only thing out of bounds is to shield it using a person. Agreed?"

Dumbledore agreed, and with a flick of his wand, the Great Hall lost all the tables and chairs. The rest of the staff (and the students) filed to the walls, and Professor Flitwick created a small pink circle on the stone wall. "Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry smiled a little. "As soon as you begin, Professor Dumbledore."

The old Headmaster created a shimmering shield in front of the wall, carefully standing to the side. Harry drew his wand, and began casting his (or rather, Hermione's) reformulated piercing hex at a fast rate. He hated how it sounded though: "Bet, bet, bet, betbetbet…" He figured that six inside of two seconds was enough.

It was. None of the spells took heed of the shield at all, speeding through the air at over twice the normal speed for spells, smashing into the pink target and sending up a small shower of rock chips from the wall. "Perhaps you didn't understand me, Professor. I want you to shield the target using whatever power and methods you can, to prevent me from hitting the target. Care to try again?"

The students were avidly looking from Harry to the target, murmuring to each other with a steadily rising volume. Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he merely said, "If that is truly what you want, Harry."

Harry nodded. The next spell was a barely transparent silver dome over the target, with a significant depth and … presence. "Bet, bet, bet, betbetbet …" The results were the same – nothing about the shield impeded Harry's attack in any way.

"That is a truly impressive attack, Harry. How does it deal with objects?"

Harry looked impassively at Dumbledore. "Care to try it?"

The Headmaster gave a decisive nod. The students (and the staff) were jockeying for a good view. The target was reapplied to a fresh section of wall, and another dome was created over the target – this time, solid silver, and completely obscuring it from view.

Harry whispered the spell four times. The first spell shot at the target, producing a molten spray of silver from the plates it hit. The second jet of light followed the hole the first spell had created, ringing the target as it hit. The following two spells did the same.

"Four spells, three hits. Is everyone convinced that I can drill a hole in any opponent?"

Professor Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, my boy, you should never …"

"Headmaster." Harry's voice was firm and carried throughout the Hall. "I am not your _boy_. If you were my opponent, I would have killed you with a spell that you can't shield against. I can cast it faster than you can dodge it. Do you see that?"

The Headmaster was silent for a moment. "I do, Harry. Are you planning on using this terrible spell against You-Know-Who?"

"I will use it against the Dark Lord if necessary."

"But, Harry, if you …"

Harry's voice overrode the Headmaster's. "If I use that spell against my opponent, I will win. It cannot be stopped by an object. It cannot be stopped by magic. And I can cast it fast enough and often enough that my opponent cannot hope to dodge it." He paused. The hall was quiet enough that everyone could easily hear him. "And that is not the only new trick I have in my arsenal."

Harry looked along the Ravenclaw area, where a few girls from the upper years met his gaze, defiantly. "If I have to take the time to slap down more Ravenclaw misbehavior, the offenders will die. I have very few methods in hand that will leave my opponents alive; everything I've taught myself, developed, or caused to be made is a way to kill my opponent quickly and finally." Looking at two of the ringleaders in Luna's bullying, he asked them directly, "Do you need a demonstration?"

Cho Chang had lost her backbone and shook her head. "No, sir." She didn't notice using the honorific. Nobody commented on it, but most thought it prudent.

The Headmaster attempted to argue with Harry. "Mr. Potter, killing one's opponent is hardly an acceptable solution…"

"Yes, Mr. Dumbledore, it is. But even if it is morally suspect, it is still a solution." Harry turned to the students that were surrounding them. "How many of you lost a relative during Voldemort's rise to power? Show of hands, please." A solid number of hands were raised – Harry estimated somewhere in the mid-fifties, with more Slytherins being counted than their numbers would assume.

"Fellow students, if the Headmaster is as knowledgeable as he likes to imply, he knew before the attacks just who would be committing the attempted killing. He could have saved your relatives, but chose not to, because he would have felt … uncomfortable." Harry shook his head and raised his voice. "The death-eaters that had been captured at the end of Voldemort's first rise were allowed to go free instead of paying for their crimes. The vast majority of the latest deaths could have been prevented if only the Head of the Wizengamot had insisted in justice," here Harry looked Dumbledore in the eye, "as was his _job_."

Dumbledore protested, "But those people repented …"

Harry promptly interrupted, "To repent, one has to _fully confess_. How many did even that much? And then the penitent person has to take _full responsibility_ for their actions, correcting all their misdeeds as best they can. How many of the released death-eaters showed _any_ impulse to help the surviving victims of their actions? But, no, the so-called Leader of the Light chose actions that could not have been more calculated to preserve Voldemort's followers to the best of his ability… completely violating his responsibility to the people he claimed to lead." Harry took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself.

"Dumbledore has consistently shown, even within Hogwarts, that he cannot bring himself to impose the slightest hardship upon those that provoke others. It's as if he actually agrees with them." Dumbledore's eyes widened in horror, and Harry continued, "No, I'm not suggesting that Dumbledore is a Voldemort sympathizer. I am, however, pointing out that even given his stated belief in the side of the Light, he is unwilling to sacrifice his moral superiority to save the lives of the innocent or impose any sort of punishment upon the guilty. He believes that it is worth the lives of everyone else so that he can sleep soundly at night. Your relatives died because Mr. Dumbledore was unwilling to have his sleep troubled in the slightest."

The silence filled the room. Even Dumbledore was having trouble responding to this statement.

Albus eventually responded, "Now, Harry, there are other ways…"

"And none of those 'other ways' were able to save the lives of those victims, were they? While, if known Death Eaters had been killed, the number of victims would be quite a bit smaller, wouldn't they?"

Harry turned back to face the staff along the wall of the Great Hall. "Headmaster!" his voice boomed. Dumbledore looked toward Harry, his eyes bright and calculating, displaying his trademark twinkle, his face assuming the expression of a kindly grandfather that was sorely disappointed.

"Come and face me!" Harry stalked into the center of the floor. "Stand here and answer for your actions, Dumbledore!" he called, pointing at a section of the floor in front of him.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

As the aged Headmaster made his way to face Harry in the center of the Great Hall, Harry removed a piece of parchment from his left pocket. He had to make sure that he hit all of the right points, in the right order. Wizard-kind weren't all that capable of rational thinking, and they needed to be guided to reach a valid conclusion.

Harry addressed the students and staff of Hogwarts, almost dismissing Dumbledore even though the man stood right in front of him. Harry reviewed the four elements that define a Dark Lord and showed how they applied to their Headmaster; the pursuit of political power, the use of lies and half-truths, the disregard for their followers' wellbeing, and using the law for their own ends while refusing to be governed by the law. Harry then aired the chain of reasoning he shared with Hermione – that Dumbledore has plotted for Harry's death and cannot be trusted. Each time that Dumbledore attempted to speak, Harry raised his voice and overrode him, carrying on with the damning chain of reasoning.

"It is clear that Mr. Dumbledore is convinced that I must die in order to defeat Voldemort. The most convincing way for him to reach that conclusion is if I was the subject of a prophecy. I will note at this point that Mr. Dumbledore, in his capacity as Headmaster, has forced me to study Divination, even against my own express wishes, and exceeding his own authority as Headmaster. This lends credence to my theory about being the subject of a prophecy."

Harry cleared his throat – this next part was a little shaky, and he has to present it as fact. "Prophecy never names its subjects directly; in all the prophecies we were given to study – and these were the clear ones – the people involved were described by actions, relationships, and titles, never by name. The most likely description of my adversary is by the title 'Dark Lord', which is why I funded the essay contest this year. As I suspected, the title of Dark Lord applied equally well to Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore; in fact, the only way that Dumbledore can truly be called the 'Leader of the Light' is if you regard light and dark as sides on a chess board, not as moral labels. I believe that the Dark Lord I am to defeat is Albus Dumbledore."

As expected, the entire room exploded in cacophony. Harry waited until he could be heard again. Dumbledore himself stood waiting, patiently observing, and, no doubt, seeking an opening for rebuttal. Harry purposely ran the fingers of his left hand through the hair on the back of his head. Scarcely a second later, he felt the magic that had so freely flowed in the Great Hall, thicken. _Hermione caught the signal. Good._

"The other thing you should all know about our Headmaster is that he is correctly described as one of the most powerful wizards to ever live. He is not, however, particularly intelligent." Again, Harry had to wait for the competing sound to disperse. The Headmaster remained standing in front of the staff and students, now clearly befuddled at what was going on. "Dumbledore has attempted to leverage his power as a substitute for intelligence, and has perfected legilimancy – mindreading – to a degree that has been unknown before in history." Harry paused, struck by an errant thought. "Or maybe it has – Binns was never too clear on that." The more alert students chuckled. "He has been using his immense magical power to, in essence, borrow the brain power of everyone in his presence, and use _your_ thoughts for _his_ own ends. Right now, I have a magical device preventing all uses of mind magic within this room, and you will notice that our Headmaster is confused and does not seem to understand the implications of what I am saying."

Just about everyone looked over the figure of the Headmaster in their midst and agreed with Harry's diagnosis.

"I believe that when needed, Dumbledore has planted his desires in our minds, bending us all to his whims. He was also swayed by the plans and emotions of those he used most heavily; Professors McGonagall and Snape, and our feckless leader, Minister Fudge." Harry ignored Umbridge's startled objection. "Dumbledore's actions have rarely been coherent, most likely because his actions were planned by different brains with different aims."

The crowd was edging away from Dumbledore, leaving him in the center of a widening circle. Harry would bet money that he didn't understand why all of the staff – and a large majority of the students – were regarding him with suspicious, hostile gazes.

"These are weighty … allegations, Mr. Potter. What proof do you have of these crimes?" asked McGonagall.

"If Dumbledore were able to think coherently without assistance, he wouldn't have gone catatonic when mind-reading became impossible within this Hall," Harry replied. "I suspect that he is suffering from a combination of spell backlash and atrophy of his personal mental abilities. The logic is sound – Albus Dumbledore cannot be trusted with any decisions more weighty than keeping himself in lemon drops. He is a moral coward, poor judge of character, and his tenure as Headmaster is a present danger to the lives of all students at Hogwarts, as he is incapable of defeating threats to his charges. His presence in our government is an active threat to the lives of all Wizards on this island."

Dumbledore was clearly attempting to understand what was going on… and not having much success, judging by the expression on his face.

"And with that, I believe that my prophesied defeat of the Dark Lord is complete."

The Great Hall filled with noise, everyone turning to their neighbor to debate Harry's reasoning. Harry moved over to where Hermione was standing, in the company of Neville, Susan, Hannah, and Luna. Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry's left hand, wrapping herself around his arm.

"Wow," Neville said. "Who knew you had it in you? Are you sure you're not a 'Claw?"

"Not at all, Neville," put in Luna. "The Ravenclaws really aren't able to think clearly, as a rule. They just like to do well in classes."

"Um, Harry, are you sure about everything you said?" asked Susan Bones. "Because the DMLE should really know about all that."

"They do," he replied. "Nothing I pointed out is new information. Everyone knows how Dumbledore handled the aftermath of Voldemort's activities in the 70's. We all know what it takes to repent and provide restitution. We all know, now, what constitutes a Dark Lord. And we know how many people died at the hands of death-eaters that Dumbledore allowed to walk."

"What about Dumbledore's illegal legilimancy?"

"Oh, yeah – that's new. But since I proved it, everyone in the castle has now been warned and can take precautions."

"But what about justice for everything he's already done?"

Harry's grew a wry smile. "You really listened to the entire thing?" He shrugged. "Do what you want. I'm not an Auror. He's been revealed to the public, and can no longer work in secret. My part is done."

"Really?" asked Hermione and Neville simultaneously.

"Well, I'll be adding all that to the end of my book on Dark Lords. It _is_ the real point of all that reasoning."

"Aren't you going to do anything about Snape?" asked Hannah.

"Not until he does something that needs a response," replied Harry. "Which should be about one heartbeat into my next Potions lesson, actually." The rest chuckled.

"Ah," murmured Hermione. She let go of Harry's arm and said, "Draco's coming."

Harry turned as Draco strutted up to the group and said, "Actually, it's a good thing that the Half-Blood and the Mudblood should take up togeth …ARRGH!" Harry had quickly and efficiently pulled his air pistol from his right pocket and shot Draco in the left shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle, following Draco, moved towards Draco (and therefore Harry), and were also shot for their trouble. All three had their right hands clamped over their left shoulders, blood dripping down their arms.

All too quickly in Harry's opinion, both McGonagall and Snape arrived to rescue their students. "Mr. Potter, what is going on here?" On seeing the injured Slytherins, she immediately snapped, "Mr. Longbottom, please use Miss Bones and Miss Abbott to get these three to Madam Pomphrey. Mr. Potter, what injured these three?"

As Neville organized the students (conscripting Luna into the effort) to move the injured to treatment, Harry replied calmly, "Each were hit by a small pellet of lead moving quite quickly." Hermione's eyebrows rose a bit and he muttered out the side of his mouth, "Mach 5."

Hermione swallowed a snort and laughter as Harry went on defensively, "The smaller the pellet is, the faster it has to go!"

Professor Snape exuded menace and deadly promises as he intoned, "You will explain this to my satisfaction, Potter. Now."

Harry kept his face impassive. "Mr. Malfoy came over throwing insults. I retaliated. I am not responsible for Mr. Malfoy's lack of preparation for any reaction that he may have encountered."

"You shot my students!" Snape's volume was steadily increasing.

"Professor Snape …" As Snape carefully looked at Harry, their eyes met, and then Harry's eyes flicked down. Following Harry's gaze, Snape realized that he was looking right down the barrel of the pistol held at Harry's waist.

"You have spent the last fifteen years energetically striving to be the most hated person in Hogwarts. I have just removed any possible protection that Dumbledore could provide you … and Voldemort's protection is no longer available to you as well. I believe that you have more urgent matters to attend to than shielding your godson from the natural consequences of his actions."

Turning to Professor McGonagall, he added, "I will, of course, be willing to serve any punishments that are equally levied upon Mr. Malfoy." Somewhat dismissed, Snape turned and left the Great Hall.

The transfiguration Professor's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Potter, your reaction was completely out of proportion to Mr. Malfoy's provocation."

"Quite," he admitted. "And my reactions will continue to eliminate threats to my friends or myself. I have had enough experiences with the protective hand of the staff in this castle, and I am unwilling to let threats grow to the point where I have to kill once again. I will address them forcefully and immediately from now on." He pointedly returned his pistol to a pocket inside his robes.

Professor McGonagall sighed, "I cannot have you as a threat to the students, Mr. Potter." She rubbed her eyes tiredly.

Harry straightened. "One. I will not act first. Students that do not provoke others have nothing to fear. Two. Each and every student here is capable of causing fatal injury. I used a method I was certain would not be fatal; they can be healed by Madam Pomphrey quite easily even though their injury serves as a warning against escalation in the future. I believe my response was quite measured."

Ms. McGonagall's eyes remained in their narrowed position. "You have just declared yourself to be 'a clear and present danger' to the students of this school, to use your own wording. You claim that you have the right and obligation to escalate a conflict from verbal to actual physical harm." Professor McGonagall's gaze was stern, uncompromising, and made Harry feel small – and somewhat ashamed. "You. Do. NOT. I have the responsibility to insure the safety of all the students here, and you have declared yourself to be a danger to them. Abandon that course of action or be expelled, Mr. Potter."

Harry paused in indecision. Hermione again latched onto Harry's arm, and tugged it a little.

Harry eventually sighed. "All right, Professor. But that means that you are responsible for my well-being. If you cannot deal with issues while they are small and controllable, I will have no faith that you will be able to handle issues when they become larger or more urgent. At which point," he gave Professor McGonagall a pointed look, "all bets are off and I will again take up the responsibility for my own safety."

The transfiguration Professor nodded. "Agreed, Mr. Potter." She turned to deal with rising voices coming from another group of students.

Hermione had been taking in all of Harry's words while clasping his arm in a firm grip. "I'm beginning to like the way you think, Harry."

That was the moment that the universe changed.

-= Epilogue =-

Severus Snape was never seen again in the halls of Hogwarts. There was a minor emergency when he abandoned his contracted responsibilities in the middle of the school year, but the new Headmistress (one Pomona Sprout) seemed to feel that invoking the contractual penalties was a sufficient response. Potions Master Snape found himself afflicted with an unusual mental impairment: whenever he attempted to brew a potion for the use of another person, he became completely unable to remember any of the procedures, skills, or properties needed to do more than heat water. When a magical contract contains a non-compete clause, it is apparently quite enforceable.

Professor McGonagall was implicated in many of the misdeeds of Albus Dumbledore, and was not invited to take up his vacated position at Hogwarts. She also relinquished her position as Deputy, and became even more taciturn as a Professor and Head of house. As a direct consequence, several years after the Fall of Dumbledore, Gryffindor House was regarded as the house you went to when you had no other choice. The House of Slytherin was no longer the clubhouse of the pureblood, and Draco Malfoy's children were in for a sharp and painful lesson.

Albus Dumbledore was put on trial for the mismanagement of his various positions, and insisted upon standing as his own counsel for the trial before the Wizengamot. Dumbledore's confidence in his eventual acquittal was unshaken, up until he faced the Assistant Counsel for the Prosecution, one maniacally-grinning Harry Potter. As the small trinket preventing mind magic was activated on the desk of the Prosecution, he tried to change his plea to guilty, but was incapacitated by spell backlash. He never regained lucidity, and was housed at St. Mungo's for the two years that it took for his body to acknowledge that his mind was dead.

Harry and Hermione were an inseparable couple for the remainder of their educational careers, and after. Frustrated by her repeated refusals to take their oaths, the Unspeakable department of the Ministry attempted to forcibly induct one Hermione Potter-Granger into their organization, just as Harry was putting the finishing touches on his Hit-Wizard training. This may have been a mistake. Mr. Potter forbore striding through the doors of their inner sanctum, choosing instead to make his assault through the thinly-defended walls.

None of the former Unspeakables have chosen to divulge precisely what happened, but Luna Lovegood reported in the Quibbler that the permanent removal of this department from the Ministry of Magic coincided with a rush order from the Potter family to triple the size of their estate library, already somewhat overlarge with the inclusion of the Black and Riddle collections.

Would-be practitioners of Dark Magic frequently chose to move their base of operations away from the British Isles upon learning that first, the Potter clan strongly desires to be left alone and second, the Potter clan does not depend upon the protection of the DMLE. One horrified survivor reported that he was treated to several _months_ of forcible remedial education by a "brilliant, but scary" witch. He had to endure a scathing review of the errors of logic, research, and practice in his Dark ambitions followed by testing to insure that the lessons were appropriately absorbed. Only after he passed all his tests with an "EE" or higher was he released with an appropriate vengeance levied upon him, which he (blushingly) refused to divulge.

In the early days of 2176, the Unified Habitats of Trans-Lunar Space attempted a magical assault on Earth, their stated intentions being to control all magical practice throughout the Solarian System. Earth's single transmission, "We have a Potter, and we're not afraid to use her," was enough to bring an unconditional surrender less than four hours later.

 **Author's Note** : Finally found the fic from where I swiped the last line. Check out "Too Many Travellers" by Inusitatus - it's sooo much better than my stuff.


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